In Imladris
by Evergreene
Summary: A tale of the Fellowship in Rivendell. They had to meet sometime...
1. A Ranger Caught off Guard

**Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings although I am hoping to get an elf for Christmas. **

**Additional disclaimer: Some of the phrases in this story are taken directly from Peter Jackson's amazing work The Fellowship of the Ring. Those words are his (and his fellow writers and Newline's and Tolkein's), not mine. No offence is intended by their use.**

**Summary: A tale of the fellowship in Rivendell. They had to meet sometime…**

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**In Imladris**

Chapter 1: A Ranger Caught Off Guard

The trees of Rivendell were different to those of the Shire. These trees, thought Samwise Gamgee, were like the elves that walked amongst them. Long, slender limbs stretched overhead as leaves of red, gold and green brushed against each other. For a hobbit who had never ventured far from home, and particularly for one as fond of gardening as Sam, Rivendell was a beautiful introduction to the outside world.

As he walked Sam took a moment to consider his companions. Next to him, Frodo still looked a mite too pale for his liking. However, he was healing quickly here in the Last Homely House, where the very air seemed to ease and renew one's spirit. Colour once more bloomed in Frodo's cheeks, his eyes had regained their startling morning-blue and his step was lighter than it had been since he had left the Shire. Noticing Sam's gaze, Frodo smiled at him, knowing that his loyal gardener still worried over his health, despite the more than capable healing skills of Lord Elrond.

Reassured that his master was well on his way to recovery, Sam directed his attention to the man who led their small party. Strider, ranger of the wilderness, looked more relaxed than Sam had ever seen him on their arduous journey from Bree. Although still exuding his usual air of mystery, he, too, seemed to be enjoying the peaceful gardens, his grim face having softened slightly. Sam looked next to the hobbit cousins, Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took. Merry's head was twitching back and forth, seemingly unable to settle on just one direction. Pippin's head on the other hand, was tilted back, his eyes focused intently on the branches above. Used to the younger hobbit's strange ways however, Sam paid him no further mind and turned his attention back to the sights of Imladris.

Pippin looked up again, eyes searching the trees above, positive that he had glimpsed a flash of gold amongst the thick foliage. Focused on that far above his head, he neglected to note the hazards on the ground, and tripped, less than gracefully, on a protruding root. Ignoring Merry's chuckle, Pippin quickly righted himself and continued searching the trees. He almost stumbled again when a face framed by golden blonde hair appeared amongst the leaves. The owner of said face raised a finger to his lips and silently faded back into the tree, disappearing amongst the foliage. Pippin blinked. He looked to his companions, but none gave any sign that they too had seen the face in the trees, one which could seemingly vanish at a moment's notice. Wondering whether to tell his friends that they had company, Pippin decided against it, doubtful that any danger would have been allowed to enter the elven sanctuary. This was quite apart from the fact that the look of mischief upon the face of their hidden companion reminded him distinctly of the one so often reflected in ponds and windows as he walked by.

Strider halted near the edge of a pond shadowed by overhanging trees and motioned for the hobbits to sit down.

"We shall rest here for a while, master hobbits," he said, not wanting to overtax the still recovering Frodo. Certain that nothing would provide a threat to his charges here in Imladris, Strider leaned back comfortably against a nearby tree and drew out his pipe, enjoying the tranquillity which enveloped Imladris.

Whilst Sam hovered around his master, much as he had done since Frodo's awakening, Pippin looked once more to the branches above the small party, trying to locate their mysterious companion.

"What are you looking at Pip?" asked Merry, staring at his cousin.

"Hmm…? Oh…nothing," replied Pippin, craning his neck to see behind him. His efforts were rewarded when the face reappeared, this time attached to a lithe body clothed in green. Surreptitiously, he nudged Merry and gestured to the figure in the trees, who, aware of his audience, gave a quick wave. Moving easily and somehow silently through the heavily leafed branches, the figure reached his desired position. He glanced once more at the hobbits with a mischievous smile and then literally dove from his branch directly onto his unsuspecting target.

Strider let out a shout as he was suddenly bowled over by a green blur and knocked to the ground. Struggling to reach the knife he kept in his boot, he quickly found himself pinned on his back and looking up into the grinning face of a blonde haired elf.

"What's this? A ranger caught off guard?"

"I am going to hurt you if you do not get off me," said Strider mildly. "Then I am going to find Arwen and make her swear by the Valar never to tell anyone that tale ever again. And then I am going to hurt you anyway." Glancing behind the elf he continued. "Of course, that may prove unnecessary, for I believe that you are about to be attacked by a foe more formidable than Sauron himself."

Following the man's glance, the elf found himself confronted by two angry hobbits, one with a look of awe on his round face. The two he had waved to earlier were on the ground overcome by laughter and apparently quite incapable of coming to the ranger's defence.

"Peace, master _periannath_," said the elf, quickly backing off his victim. "I mean your ranger no harm." Reconsidering, he corrected himself. "Not much anyway. And by the way Estel, it was not the lovely Arwen who told me that most entertaining tale. It was Glorfindel."

"Glorfindel. As in he who fought the balrog. He who was sent back to Middle-earth by the Valar knows that I was 'caught off guard' by Arwen."

"Do not despair Estel. At least your brothers remain ignorant. For the time being anyway." The elf smiled.

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

"If you tell them that then I will tell the hobbits that you are"- here Strider switched to elvish- "_a ernil._"

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

The hobbits stared first at the elf, then at Strider. Gone was the brooding, tense ranger who had watched them silently from the corner of the Prancing Pony. In his place was a laughing man currently attempting to cuff the back of his friend's head in retaliation for the surprise attack whilst the fair being fended him off with a handy stick. Looking closer however, Frodo realised that although the careworn face had smoothed, and laughter lines had replaced those caused by stress, the sense of danger and watchfulness around the man had not disappeared, merely relaxed. He still carried the burdens of Strider, ranger of the North, only here in Rivendell they were dimmed.

Frodo's musings were interrupted as the soft voice of the elf broke into his thoughts.

"I am glad to see you again, _mellon nin_."

Strider grasped the elf's shoulder. "As am I, Legolas. It has been too long."

When Frodo cleared his throat politely Strider's attention was brought back to the hobbits.

"My apologies, my friends. Legolas, may I present Frodo Baggins, Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took and Samwise Gamgee, all respected hobbits of the Shire."

Deciding that Frodo's soft cough was due to his recent illness he continued. "Master hobbits, this is Legolas, pr-" At a glare from the elf he quickly changed what he had been about to say. "-Pride of Mirkwood."

Legolas bowed gracefully to the four beings, all of whom only reached his waist and they bowed back with varying degrees of success. "_Pride_?" he whispered so that only the sharp ears of the ranger heard him.

"I panicked."

Seeing that his fellow hobbits were too nervous around the graceful elf to say anything, Frodo spoke up, gesturing to his cousins and gardener in turn. "If you don't mind sir, he's usually called Merry, he's Pippin, and he's Sam."

"It would be an honour," replied the elf, folding himself to the ground opposite Strider. "However, in return you must call me Legolas." Eying the man who had settled back with his pipe once more he directed an enquiring glance at the hobbits. "I must admit that I am somewhat curious as to how you came to be in the company of Estel?"

"Why do you call him Estel?" piped up the ever inquisitive Pippin, ignoring Frodo's admonishing glare.

"Because that is his name," replied Legolas simply.

"But I thought his name was Strider? At least, that's what the innkeeper in Bree told us," said Frodo, curious despite his despair at the younger hobbit's manners.

"It is. This human has many names, each stranger than the last." He began ticking them off on his slender fingers. "Strider, Estel, Longshanks, Ar-" The man glared at him but the elf simply shrugged and continued. "Arrogant human…"

"_Arrogant human?_"Strider interrupted.

"Why, yes. Did you think that I was going to say something else?" the elf asked, another grin flashing across his face that only Strider caught.

"I seem to remember that the expression 'arrogant elf' is more common, that is all."

"Strange, I do not remember that." At the ranger's low growl Legolas quickly turned back to the hobbits. "Now that that mystery has been resolved master hobbits, if you would be so kind as to reveal the ever deepening puzzle of how you met this man of many names?"

Merry and Pippin eagerly launched into the tale of the dark figure in the corner of the Prancing Pony and his subsequent abduction of Frodo. Frodo himself broke in occasionally to prevent the others from revealing that which was to be kept secret and Sam, still in awe of the elf, remained silent, face beet-red as the two cousins gave an impressive, if slightly exaggerated, re-enactment of Sam's brave entrance.

Encouraged by the elf's obvious interest Merry and Pippin continued the story of their journey to Rivendell. Upon relating Frodo's comment that an enemy would look fairer and feel fouler than Strider, they were rewarded by the rare sight of one of the firstborn so overcome by mirth that tears formed in his eyes.

"I told you needed to bathe more Estel!" gasped the elf through his laughter.

"But if I did then the hobbits would have believed me to be a servant of the enemy,"

Strider countered triumphantly.

"Then you admit that you do not bathe often enough?" The ranger opened his mouth to reply then closed it again, seemingly stumped and thus provoking the elf into further merriment.

Afraid that he had offended Strider, Pippin began to apologise but was distracted by the sight of two identical figures approaching their small party. He soon identified the twin sons of Elrond, both of whom he had met the previous night in the Hall of Fire. Pippin had immediately warmed to them, recognising a mischievous streak that reminded him of Merry. Although retaining the same ethereal feel of the other elves present, they seemed more often merry than mysterious, with even Sam relaxing enough to mumble a few words in their presence. They had immediately taken the four hobbits under their wing, ensuring that they never lacked for food, wine or company.

Legolas, having gained a semblance of control over his laughter, glanced up as the two elves approached and nudged Strider with his foot. "Here come your brothers Estel. Do you think that they would enjoy the hobbits' tale as much as I?"

"Brothers?" asked Merry curiously.

"I was raised here in Rivendell," replied Strider, straightening up and watching the approaching elves with a slightly panicked look on his face. "Do not dare say a word Legolas."

"Estel, your words wound me. Do you really think that I would be so cruel?"

"Yes," the ranger replied without hesitation. "Therefore, I propose a deal. I will not tell the hobbits if you don't tell my brothers."

"Agreed."

"Tell us what?" asked Merry but the twins had already arrived. Dark hair framed two identical faces, still youthful despite the many years that only their keen grey eyes betrayed. However, these were lit by a bright spark of mischief which, when combined with their angelic expressions, put both Strider and Legolas immediately on their guard.

Ignoring the rest of the company the two elves halted directly in front of Legolas. "_Mae govannen_, Your Highness," they murmured, simultaneously sweeping into low, formal bows.

"On behalf of Elrond Halfelven, we, as lords of Imladris, are honoured to welcome you to the Last Homely House," said the one on the left.

"It is both a pleasure and a privilege to have you grace our humble home with your presence once again," continued the other almost reverently.

The hobbits stared in surprise and awe at the blonde elf currently sending murderous looks in the direction of the twins.

"Your highness?" said Frodo softly to Strider in amazement.

"Yes. Although he may not seem it, Legolas here is royalty."

"Estel! You gave your word that you would not tell!"

"And I kept my word. I promised I wouldn't reveal that you were a prince, not that I wouldn't reveal you were royalty."

"You're a prince?" echoed the four hobbits as Legolas looked at his friend in reproach and with more than a hint of irritation.

"He is indeed," cut in the left twin, the pair only just having straightened from their bows. "You are in the company of Prince Legolas Greenleaf of the Woodland Realm…"

"Son of King Thranduil…" continued the other twin.

"Youngest prince of Mirkwood the Great..."

"Famed warrior…"

"Renowned archer…"

"Bane of orcs…"

"Slayer of spiders…"

"Desire of many an elf maiden's heart…"

"And currently very annoyed," finished Strider with a grin.

Indeed, a scowl occupied the prince's fair face as he glared at each of the three brothers in turn. His blue eyes had turned to ice, and Sam could not help but think that if he were the target of such a look, he would prefer to face the Dark Lord himself than even attempt to return it. However, it seemed to have no effect on the three brothers, who over the years had grown immune to all but the worst of Legolas' stares.

"You remember my brothers, Elladan and Elrohir," said Strider, gesturing to the twins who had sat down on the left and right of Legolas respectively, trapping the prince between them. The hobbits nodded silently still staring at Legolas.

The prince was certainly not dressed as one of royal status; at least, not how Frodo would have imagined from Bilbo's tales. No crown adorned the fair head, no robes draped on the ground behind him. Rather, the elf was clothed in a manner more befitting a warrior, in shades of green and brown. A light blue shirt was all but covered by a suede tunic reaching to mid-thigh. Soft boots covered his feet, and even here in Rivendell the elf carried on his back a bow and quiver, as well as two long knives. Noticing the hobbits' stares, the elf sighed and drew his legs up to his chin, his arms encircling them like a child, yet somehow managing to maintain a dignified grace.

"You had to tell them, didn't you?"

"Of course we did," confirmed the twin now identified as Elladan. "Besides, they would have found out eventually so you should really be thanking us."

"Thanking you."

"Yes."

"And why is that, may I ask?"

"Good question. Estel?"

"Well," said the ranger, thinking swiftly. "If we had not told the hobbits now, imagine how difficult it would have been for them to find out at the council tomorrow."

"Difficult?" echoed the prince.

"Yes," said Strider, warming to his topic and seemingly oblivious to the fact that the eyes of blue ice had hardened into steel. "It would hardly have been fair to expect them to deal with both the serious business of the council as well as the discovery that the supposed warrior elf whom they had met the previous day was no more than a spoilt princeling who lazes around in his palace all day leaving us ordinary people to do all the work."

Even Strider could not fail to notice that the steel had sharpened to a point. However, knowing that it was too late to avoid his impending doom he continued.

"Thus, you should be thanking my dear brothers and I because we just saved you from disappointing these worthy hobbits in public." Having finished his explanation Strider gained his feet more swiftly than the hobbits would have believed possible, and ran.

"If you would be so kind as to excuse me for a moment, master hobbits," said Legolas calmly. "I have a slight problem that must be dealt with." With that, he rose gracefully and shot after the fleeing human.

The twins dissolved into laughter as they watched the two friends, Strider desperately trying to keep ahead of the furious elf.

"He won't hurt Strider, will he?" asked Frodo anxiously.

"No. Not badly anyway," replied Elladan. "You must understand that Legolas is somewhat sensitive about his position as prince. He has found in the past that some people tend to underestimate the amount of responsibility and work which his position entails, especially as he is the youngest of a large family. Although such people are far mistaken, Legolas prefers not to draw attention to his position whenever possible. Of course, this provides his dearest friends, namely Estel, Elrohir and I, with more than ample opportunity to provoke our favourite princeling. But do not worry. There is no need to fear for your ranger. He should escape with merely a few broken bones and possibly an arrow in the back."

Not reassured in the slightest, the hobbits watched with growing concern as man and elf lapped the pond once again. Strider, seeming to realise that there was no hope of escaping the fast gaining elf, suddenly swung into the branches of the nearest tree followed quickly by his pursuer.

"Ai, Estel, what caused you to do that? You'll never escape him now," said Elrohir regretfully.

"A mistake indeed," agreed Elladan, shaking his head at his little brother's foolishness.

Seeing the puzzled expressions on the hobbits' faces, Elrohir explained. "Legolas is a wood-elf and is thus far more at home in the trees than he is on the ground. He'll easily catch Estel up there whereas my foolish brother may have had a chance on level ground. A small chance, but a chance nonetheless."

Sure enough, a shout soon sounded, a tree shook briefly and a few leaves fell to the ground, followed closely by a far heavier ranger.

Seconds later the elf had landed lightly next to the human who was picking himself up off the ground, muttering loudly about arrogant, tree-loving elves. Calmly returning to the small party, Legolas bowed to the hobbits, pointedly ignoring the twins. "My apologies, master _periannath_, but I am afraid I must leave you for the moment."

"Why?" asked Strider, approaching behind the elf, both apparently having forgotten their dispute.

"I have a prior appointment with some elves from Rivendell."

"Not another archery match," said Elrohir with a sigh. "You think they would have learnt by now."

Legolas shrugged. "It is my duty to defend my honour as a warrior, and that of Mirkwood. It should not present too much of a challenge, anyway. They are only Noldor elves."

"What!" cried the twins whilst Strider let out a bark of laughter. "He is insulting you too, Estel," reminded Elladan. "You were trained by Noldor elves." His brother subsided immediately.

Legolas just smiled, bowed once more to the hobbits and set off in the direction of the Last Homely House. Strider beckoned to the hobbits. "Join us," he invited, hastening to catch his friend. "If you wished to see the elves, this is something you would be wise not to miss."

TBC

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_Mellon nin_- my friend

_Ernil_- prince

_Periannath_- hobbits

_Mae_ _govannon_- well met

**A/N- If you're wondering why I had Aragorn wanting to keep his name secret it's because I believe that Frodo, at least, would recognise it as that of the Heir of Isildur. Not knowing what would result from the Council of Elrond, I do not think that Aragorn would want relative strangers to know who he really was as he seems to be trying to avoid his destiny whenever possible. Legolas wanting to hide the fact that he was a prince comes largely from my reading of many other authors' work. Also, it is never mentioned in the films unless you watch the extended Two Towers in which Gimli uses it to taunt Legolas. Also, this whole hidden identity thing provides some good entertainment. **

**I would love to get some reviews. Whether my story made you laugh, cry or possibly want to put an arrow in my back, any comments would be much appreciated, particularly nice ones! I have a few more ideas for 'In Imladris' so if you would like to see them take form as much as I do please let me know. Of course, they will probably be written anyway…**

**Cheers **

**Evergreene**


	2. Man of Gondor

**Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, it belongs to Tolkein and Peter Jackson & co. (Evergreene turns and stomps away angrily)**

**Additional disclaimer: Some of the phrases in this story are taken directly from Peter Jackson's amazing work The Fellowship of the Ring and The Two Towers. They are marked and are not my words, they are his. No offence is intended by their use.**

**Yet another disclaimer (this is getting silly): I made up pretty much everything about archery, so my apologies to any archers out there! **

**Thank you so much to all of you who reviewed! I'm sorry it's taken me so long to post a new chapter, but first exams got in the way, and then…well…then I don't really have an excuse. (Hides) Well anyway, here's the new chapter, enjoy!**

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Chapter Two: Man of Gondor

Boromir of Gondor strode down one of the many paths which wandered through the gardens of Rivendell. Soft gravel crunched under his heavy boots as he walked, the sound harsh against the peace of the usually tranquil valley. Many of the birds who had made their homes in the elven sanctuary were startled from their perches, and circled above the treetops, complaining to each other about the noisy intruder. Yet the subject of their disapproval was lost deep within his own thoughts, unaware of the disturbance his presence had caused.

A slight frown creased the man's forehead as he considered his most recent battle, one in which, although he was reluctant to admit so, he had not emerged victorious. He felt slightly comforted when a proud voice in his head argued that he had not been _defeated_…not exactly. Yet, returned another, annoyingly persistent voice, he had been met, engaged, and dealt with swiftly, and seemingly without any conscious effort from his opponent. What was defeat, if not that? Reluctantly consenting to the fact that he had indeed suffered a defeat, the man tried to pinpoint the exact moment his opponent had gained control of the contest, yet quickly found himself lost amongst the subtle, yet effective techniques employed by his foe.

He had struck first. A direct attack, he was unwilling to be delayed by this battle for any longer than necessary. Yet his adversary had met him easily, and he was forced to pull back to maintain his equilibrium. Another strike, this one more forceful, yet it too was parried effortlessly. Circling briefly, Boromir had used the time to strategise, waiting for the right time to attack. His opponent however, had seemed almost distracted, his mind on other matters, but when Boromir had cautiously tried for another blow, seeking to break through his enemy's defence, he had been pressed back once more. His opponent had then switched to the offensive, apparently having decided not to waste any more time with this contest, however one-sided it might have been. Before Boromir knew what had happened, a series of lightning fast attacks had forced him to concede defeat, fortunate to have been allowed to retreat with his dignity intact… to an extent at least. A rematch, scheduled for the next day, had been graciously offered and grudgingly accepted.

The crease on Boromir's forehead deepened. Although he was loathe to admit it, his recent encounter with the elven ruler of Rivendell could not be truthfully perceived as anything but a defeat. Lord Elrond had been gracious, kindly even, yet not for one moment had Boromir felt at ease in his presence. Instead he had felt off balance, clumsy, almost like a little boy allowed to sit in upon a meeting between the grownups. The elf lord's gaze had been piercing, directed straight at Boromir yet seeing all that was around him and more. Despite this however, Boromir had felt that his host's mind was on other matters of far more importance. Lord Elrond had welcomed him, enquiring about the situation of Gondor, yet had skilfully avoided talking about the business of the upcoming council. Determined to discover the answers which his father sought, Boromir had persisted with his questions, only to find himself subtly diverted onto other topics and, before he realized it, leaving Lord Elrond's chambers to "rest after his long journey."

Again, Boromir frowned. His encounters with elves had been few and far between, yet none had managed to unnerve him as had Lord Elrond, nor dissuade him so easily from his set purpose. Not for the first time in the past few hours, he found his thoughts straying towards his brother, considering yet again how Faramir would have fared had he come in Boromir's place. It was an acknowledged fact between the two that Faramir was the one more suited to diplomacy and politics, able to remain courteous yet at the same time secure the desired settlement or information.

Boromir, on the other hand, found that he lost his temper all too easily, quickly frustrated by the circuitous nature of politics. He preferred to be out in the field, commanding Gondor's troops in the unending war against Mordor. Battles were something he understood, excelled at. Weapons, manoeuvres, predicting and outwitting enemy captains; those skills came easily to him. Certainly, he was no novice in the councils which his father presided over as Steward. He and his brother had both been brought up within the systems of dealings and alliances upon which a nation was run, any of which could change without warning. It was just that he had always tended towards the more direct methods of accomplishing a task.

Perhaps it would have been better if Faramir had come to Rivendell in his stead, as he had offered. Quite besides his political skills, his younger brother had always been fascinated by the elves. A slight smile came to Boromir's face as he recalled the many occasions in which a young Faramir had come running up to him, clutching a heavy book and eagerly regaling his older brother with his latest story of elves or dragons. Faramir would have enjoyed being a guest in a real elvish house, whereas Boromir could not help but feel uncomfortable in the presence of so many of the ethereal creatures who had the appearance of humans, yet in other ways bore only the slightest resemblance to the race of man.

Boromir's smile dimmed. Their father, the steward of Gondor, had wanted his first-born to go to Rivendell, trusting only he to bring him back a mighty gift…and denying his youngest child the much-desired chance to prove his quality. His mind took him back to the last time he had seen his family…

_The flag of Gondor flew high in the strong winds which swept through the stone streets of Osgiliath. Long had the city situated on the banks of the River Anduin exchanged hands between Gondor and the forces of Sauron. Many a battalion had disappeared within its walls, many a child had lost their father in the attempt to prevent the shadow of Mordor from encroaching any further into the region of man. Today however, the effort had been rewarded. Osgiliath was restored to its rightful owners and all the free people of Gondor rejoiced. _

_Two brothers celebrated amongst the crowd of soldiers, enjoying the increasingly rare chance to rejoice in a victory over the immeasurable forces of the enemy. Ale flowed as cheers and laughter lit the broken city, and every now and again, a ray of light broke through the heavy clouds, illuminating the blemished white stone and glinting off bloodstained armour. The captains of Gondor moved from group to group, celebrating, congratulating, offering comfort where it was needed, and receiving many thanks from men who had seen more of war than anyone had the right to ask of them. Together, Boromir and Faramir had relished their shared victory. Yet a shadow was soon cast by one dear to both their hearts._

Weeks later, in a sunlit terrace in Rivendell, Boromir found it all too easy to recall the look of intense excitement on his father's face as drew his eldest son aside…

"_The weapon of the enemy has been found…Isildur's Bane…This thing must come to Gondor!"_

…_His father's hands, clutching at him… _

"_It is our blood which is being spilled, our people who are dying!" _

…_His own voice, echoing loudly amongst the ruined stone…_

"_My place is here with my people!"_

…_A surge of guilt at his father's next, accusing, words…_

"_Would you deny your own father?"_

…_His brother's voice, quiet, hopeful…_

"_I would go in his stead"_

…_His father's bitterness as he glared at his youngest son, his pride as he looked upon Boromir…_

"_I trust this mission only to your brother. The one who will not fail me."_

Boromir shook his head abruptly, forcing the troubling images out of his head. It was no use dwelling on the past. It was best to leave the matter well alone until he returned to Minas Tirith and could talk to his father, and Faramir. Until then, he would concentrate on the task at hand.

Satisfied with his decision, Boromir turned his attention to his surroundings, but quickly came to a halt. He took a few steps forward then stopped again, confused. So absorbed had he been in his thoughts that he had lost track of the twisting paths and walkways of Rivendell and no longer had any idea from which direction he had come, much less wanted to go. He looked around carefully. To either side of the path was dense green woodland which hid any trace of the main building. Here and there amongst the trees were twisting pillars and half-hidden lattices, forming a third nature of elves and the living world. An unseen stream trickled somewhere to the right, the sound mingling with echoing bird calls. None of this however, provided him with the slightest clue to which way he needed to go. Boromir hesitated for a brief moment, then reversed his direction and began to follow his own footsteps in the gravel, a tactic which worked well… at least until he came to a paved patio. Squaring his shoulders, Boromir determined not to let a little thing like being lost in a foreign elven maze of trees, archways, paths and plants concern him. He picked a direction and started to walk.

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The sun was well in the western sky when Boromir heard the musical sound of elvish voices carried on the wind. Encouraged by the thought of finding someone who could direct him back to the Last Homely House, even if that someone was a slightly unnerving elf, Boromir headed in the direction from whence the fair voices came.

Within minutes he found himself at the perimeter of a long open field, with archery targets lining one end and a handful of elves gathered in groups at the other. Taking a deep breath, Boromir relished the fresh smells of the lush grass. Beautiful though the White City was, greenery was scarce in Minas Tirith, and more often than not, when the occasion came that he left the city, it was to go to battle. He knew all to well how the smells of war erased those of nature.

Again he inhaled, and was surprised at the faint whiff of smoke which tingled on the air, reminding him of the scent of dark soils and cosy hearths. Sounds of merriment drew his attention however, to one of the smaller groups on the field, and he was startled to see the man he had spoken with the previous morning in the chamber of Narsil. The man was gesturing vehemently at a blonde elf, whilst two dark haired elves looked on. Boromir wondered who the man was, able to interact so casually with the firstborn. He had thought him a mere ranger, a friend of Mithrandir as the man himself had claimed. But maybe, thought Boromir, watching the sole other human in the vicinity giving the elf next to him a light shove, he was of more import than he first appeared.

"Can you move, please?"

Boromir was interrupted from his musings by a high, rather annoyed, voice. He turned around and found himself confronted by two small beings, each only half the size of a normal man. They had large, furry feet and curly hair which nearly hid their ears, which, Boromir was curious to see, had slightly pointed tips. They were sitting on the grass behind him with their legs stretched out in front of them, both holding long, wooden pipes from which rings of smoke were rising gently, and had clearly been watching the events on the field. Searching his memory whilst attempting to hide his surprise, a glimpse came to Boromir of a young Faramir excitedly telling him about these creatures, halflings, he thought they were called. But they had not been seen in Gondor for many a year. He wondered what sort of council he was going to tomorrow.

"My apologies…" he began but quickly found that neither of the creatures was paying him any attention. Instead one was chastising the other, having pulled his pipe from his mouth to wave at his companion for further emphasis.

"Pippin! You can't speak to him like that!"

"Why not?"

"Well, he's a lord!"

"A lord?"

"Yes Pip, a lord. You can't just tell a lord to move."

"How do you know he's a lord?"

"It's obvious, isn't it? I mean, just look at him."

A bemused Boromir felt a smile tugging at his lips as two curly heads swivelled as one to stare at him, before swiftly returning to their original positions.

"I think you're right, Merry, he does look like a lord. But how do we know if he _is_ a lord?"

"Well, we could ask him."

"Can you do that? Ask a lord if he's a lord?"

"I think so. Otherwise how do people know if he's a lord or not."

There was a brief pause in this rapid deluge of conversation as Pippin, as he was apparently called, considered his companion's words, whilst the other chewed on his pipe impatiently.

"Go on then Pippin, ask him!"

"Me? I'm not asking him! It was your idea!"

"Well…yes…but you're the one who wants to know."

"You're the eldest. It should be your responsibility."

"And as the eldest I think that you should do it." Merry gave the other a quick shove. "Go on, ask him."

Two heads turned once more in Boromir's direction.

"Excuse me?"

"Yes?"

"My cousin Merry here was wondering if you happened to be a lord?"

Boromir fought to keep a straight face as he looked down at the innocent, yet curious gazes of the small creatures. "I am a lord, master halfling. I am Boromir, son of Denethor, the stew-"

But the two heads had already turned back to each other, leaving Boromir, son of Denethor, the Steward of Gondor, to his own devices once more.

"See, Pip, I _told_ you he was a lord. And you shouldn't tell lords to move. It's against protocol or something. And it's rude."

"Well, you're being rude at the moment," accused Pippin.

"Am not!" Merry objected, apparently offended at the very thought. Indeed, it was a well-known fact, at least amongst those who had the pleasure of being acquainted with the small creatures, that hobbits prided themselves on their manners, particularly in being gracious hosts to any company, whether in their own homes or not.

"Are too," replied Pippin. "You haven't even introduced yourself to Boromir."

"Lord Boromir."

"Yes, him."

"I was just about to when you interrupted me," claimed Merry.

"_I_ interrupted _you_? _You _interrupted _me_. And that was rude in itself. Not to mention that you still haven't introduced yourself." The younger hobbit folded his arms, and, skilfully blowing a large smoke ring, looked at his companion expectantly.

"Fine," replied Merry. "If you'll excuse me, I have a lord to make the acquaintance of."

The eldest of the two halflings stood, and, turning to face Boromir, swept into a low bow. "My apologies, _my lord_, for not introducing myself sooner. I am Meriadoc Brandybuck, son of Saradoc the Master of Buckland." Gesturing to the younger hobbit, he continued. "And may I present my cousin Peregrin, son of Paladin, as he seems to have neglected to introduce himself." He smirked at the other's affronted expression. "And over there are Frodo and Sam," he added as an afterthought, gesturing further down the field.

Boromir looked in the direction the halfling had indicated and saw two more curly heads, one brown, one blonde, both watching the field and intent on the group which Boromir had noted earlier.

"Are they also your kinsmen?" enquired Boromir curiously, unfortunately unaware of the consequences of such a question, at least where hobbits were involved.

Both of the halflings immediately brightened, pleased by the revelation that one of the big folk was interested in the complex, but fascinating business of family relations.

"Frodo's my second cousin, once removed on his mother's side," said Pippin, removing his pipe from his mouth. "And he's my third cousin, twice removed on his father's side. "

Seeing the man's confused expression, Merry nudged his cousin, who halted rather unwillingly, only having covered a couple of the numerous leaves of his family tree. "Let _me_ explain," said Merry. "I'm more closely related to Frodo than you are." At Pippin's reluctant nod, he began. "Now, Frodo's my first cousin, once removed, on his mother's side. That means that his father is my mother's brother and my mother is his aunt, got that?"

Boromir nodded, completely lost.

"Excellent! Now, in Pippin's case…"

As the halfling continued with his explanation, backed up by Pippin's frequent nods and even more frequent interruptions, Boromir quickly became more and more confused by the mix of mothers, brothers, aunts, uncles and cousins three, four and five times removed. Despite his best intentions, his mind wandered, and was once again drawn to the group with the human in their midst. He tensed upon seeing that the ranger had drawn a knife, and had it levelled at the blonde haired elf. Did he not realise the risk he was taking? Often had Boromir heard soldiers telling stories round the campfire about those who had fallen ill of elves. Many a man had claimed that bad luck followed, with sickness and injury plaguing them and their families. He had previously dismissed such rumours, taking them for mere folklore, a way for the men to distract themselves before battle, but now, having experienced the unnervingly powerful presence of the Lord Elrond, found that uncertainty had crept inconspicuously into his mind.

To his surprise however, the lithe elf only laughed and danced out of reach of the ranger's blade. His musical voice rang out, nearly drowned by the merry voices of the two hobbits, who had now moved onto how Sam was related to Pippin, quite distantly by the length of the explanation. As the hobbits seemed to desire no more than the occasional nod to fuel their discussion, Boromir continued to watch the small group. The blonde elf, still avoiding the man's knife, ducked behind his elven companions, whom, Boromir was startled to see, were identical to one other. The blonde elf leant forward momentarily to whisper something to them before once again darting out of reach, and the two elves broke into laughter. Giving up his attempts with the blade, the ranger began shaking his head; it looked as though he was protesting whatever the elf had just said, but quickly he was reduced to simply glaring at the offender, who had begun talking loudly about someone called Arwen.

The hobbits paused midway through their explanations and glanced over at the group.

"It looks like Legolas told the twins then," said Merry with a chuckle.

Boromir frowned; the name Legolas seemed familiar. Again, his brother's tales served him well and he questioned the halfling curiously. "Master Meriadoc? When you mentioned Legolas, were you referring to the prince of Mirkwood?"

"Well, Strider says he's a prince," answered Merry, slowly. "Legolas didn't seem too happy about it though, did he, Pip?"

As the younger hobbit shook his head, Boromir's thoughts were circulating quickly. A council with the Lord of Rivendell, the Grey Wizard, one of the mysterious rangers of the north, the son of the ruler of Gondor, apparently a halfling or two, and now the prince of yet another elven realm? Not to mention that he thought he had seen a group of dwarves wandering around the main house, carefully examining the elven artefacts. This would be a strange gathering indeed! A new thought occurred to him. Perhaps the rumours were true? The finding of the Ring of Power must surely be one of the only reasons to warrant a meeting such as this.

Three elves, the prince amongst them, were now moving to the front of the gathered figures, each equipped with a bow and a quiver of arrows upon their backs. Boromir and his small companions watched as the first of the three, who was clothed in muted red and brown, positioned himself opposite a target to the left of the field, and after nocking an arrow, drew his bow. He paused, lining up his shot carefully, and released the arrow which went speeding to strike the target in the centre ring. Twice more he drew and fired, both arrows impacting not far from the first. There was smattered applause from the gathered crowds, and the elf bowed lightly before stepping back to allow the next elf, who was wearing the same colours, forward.

Boromir, silently amazed at the skill of the elven archer, became aware of Merry and Pippin conversing quietly between themselves as the second elf positioned himself. The two hobbits were discussing whether or not to ask Boromir to explain what was happening, because he was sure to know, being a lord and all.

Swiftly, Boromir turned to the hobbits, anxious to help the merry little creatures, not to mention hoping to avoid another convoluted discussion about to which halfling fell the responsibility of asking him.

"I was wondering, master halflings, whether you desired me to explain the finer points of this archery match?"

The hobbits nodded eagerly.

"Are you an archer, my lord?" asked Merry.

"Nay, I am afraid I am not, I favour the sword. It is my younger brother, Faramir, who is the archer of the family." Seeing the hobbits' disappointed faces, Boromir hastened to reassure his new acquaintances "Yet I have not lived with him for so many years without picking up a few of the finer points of the bow and arrow. He has even taught me a little about the practice in elven realms, though it differs slightly from that of Gondor."

"What do you mean?" asked Pippin, watching as the new archer fired three times in quick succession, the first two arrows striking the centre circle, and the last just outside. The applause was slightly louder this time.

"In Gondor, accuracy is the deciding factor in a competition. Yet Faramir says that elven archers place equal importance on speed and grace, as you can see. I believe that the second elf was judged superior to the first because although his arrows were slightly less accurate, he was faster and smoother than the first."

Both hobbits nodded, clearly impressed by the knowledge of their new friend.

"Now it's Legolas' turn!" said Pippin excitedly, and both halflings stood to their feet in order to gain a better view.

Boromir watched curiously. Although Gondor had not had contact with Mirkwood for centuries, he recalled tales of the prince of Mirkwood, supposedly one of the finest archers of Middle Earth.

It seemed that the rumours were true. The elf lined up almost casually, still exchanging teasing words with his companions. He nocked an arrow, drew, and stilled for the briefest of seconds. Once, twice, thrice. Faster than Boromir could follow, the elven prince had fired each of his arrows. Boromir looked to the target; the first arrow had hit the very centre, the second was next to it and the third had split the first!

All four hobbits were now on their feet, applauding loudly. "Well," said Merry, "I suppose he's quite good then, isn't he?"

Boromir nodded wordlessly, staring from target to elven prince in amazement. Never had he seen such archery! His own brother was considered one of the finest archers Gondor had to offer, but Boromir had never seen him split an arrow, and certainly not at such speed. He looked again to the prince who had bowed graciously to each of his opponents, giving them some sort of salute with his hand over his heart. Hearing the hobbits' applause, he gave an extravagant bow in their direction, much to the hobbits' delight, before being swamped by his earlier companions and lost from view.

Boromir looked curiously at the hobbits, surprised that they were known to the elf prince.

"We met Legolas earlier this morning," confided Merry to Boromir. "He was stalking Strider."

"Strider?"

"The man who's with Legolas and the twins," answered Pippin, pointing at the human. "He ambushed Frodo in Bree and Sam threatened to fight him and then he saved us and we followed him into the wilds even though we didn't trust him and Frodo said he smelled bad and then he saved us again and brought us to Rivendell." Pippin paused for breath. "He's a ranger, you know."

"So I see," Boromir replied. "I believe that we met earlier." Fortunately, he was saved from having to elaborate when the other two hobbits wandered up, and introductions were made. Boromir could not help liking the new halflings. Frodo, though he looked slightly worn out, was polite, and was soon chatting easily to Boromir, asking about the White City, a topic which the man was only too happy to discuss. Sam, although quiet at first, seemed a gentle creature who, Boromir was amused to see, kept a close eye on Frodo and seemed to be his self-appointed bodyguard.

The crowd on the archery field had started to disperse as the sun began to sink low in the west. The small group consisting of prince, ranger and twins was approaching the hobbits. About to excuse himself, Boromir felt a small tug on his sleeve.

"We're going to go up to the house to find some supper," said Merry. "Would you like to come, my lord?"

The man nodded, a smile upon his face as he looked down at the merry little creatures, of whom he had quickly grown fond. "I would be glad to join you, master halflings, if you would not object to my company. But please, it is Boromir to my friends."

And so it was that in the growing darkness, Boromir, man of Gondor, found his way back to the warmth and light of the Last Homely House with a couple of hobbits by his side.

TBC

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**That's it for now; hopefully the next chapter will be up quicker than this one was! In accordance with new rules, (growls) I've emailed reviewer responses, so if you want one for this chapter, be sure to leave your email!**

**Thanks for reading and pleeeease review!**

**Evergreene**


	3. Little Hobbit Lost

**Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings. If I did, I would be an awful lot richer than I am now.**

**Warnings: Minor spoilers for the movie "The Fellowship of the Ring"**

**Greetings, readers, and welcome to my latest attempt at telling the tale of the fellowship in Rivendell! Thank you so much to all you wonderful reviewers; your words are much appreciated. Hope you enjoy!**

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Chapter 3: Little Hobbit Lost

Pippin sighed. He was lost. Granted, he was lost in a beautiful elven sanctuary, but the fact of it remained, he was still lost. The young hobbit was currently wandering down a long hallway upon whose walls hung silken banners filled with scenes of glorious warriors, merry hunting parties and beautiful maidens. Often a flowing but indecipherable script trailed across the hangings, leaving the ever-curious Pippin to wonder what tales it concealed.

Carved wooden doorways branched off the hallway at regular intervals, open as often as not and thus inviting one as curious as Pippin to investigate the room within. The doors which were closed, however, proved even more enticing. Although hesitant, not to mention slightly nervous about intruding upon the home of an elven lord, Pippin peeked behind more than a few of these doors, reasoning that after all, doors were meant to be opened. Behind one he saw a great library with piles of manuscripts and books reaching high towards the sweeping ceiling. Behind another he glimpsed strange looking instruments reaching over the balcony, towards the early morning sky.

He continued on his way, trotting down countless passageways and through innumerable chambers, enjoying the feel of the soft carpet which sunk under his feet, but beginning to despair of ever finding his way out. Finally he spied the shadowy form of someone in front of him, an elf he thought, judging by their graceful strides, and hurried forward hoping that whoever it was could lead him to an exit, and preferably to breakfast. Gaining on his rescuer, he recognised the long blonde hair of Legolas, Strider's friend. Pleased that he wouldn't be faced with the daunting prospect of facing an unknown elf, he hurried to catch up only to see the prince open a door on the right of the corridor and enter the pitch-black room beyond. Reaching the doorway he found that the elf had disappeared in the darkness, but then a burst of morning light illuminated the scene as a heavy velvet drape was drawn back, revealing what looked to be a bedroom. The floor was strewn with numerous items, creating a lumpy path to a large bed in the middle of the room, upon which a pile of blankets was heaped. About to enter and ask Legolas if he could show him the way to wherever breakfast was being served, Pippin hesitated as the pile of blankets emitted a soft groan. Curious, the hobbit remained at the entrance to the room, half-hidden behind the door.

"Good morning, Estel!" exclaimed the elf prince as he drew back a second drape and turned to face the bed.

Another groan was all the response he received. Undaunted, Legolas dropped down onto the mattress, which, Pippin was curious to see, barely shifted under his weight.

"Estel?"

Silence.

"Estel, it is morning. It is time to rise."

More silence. The elf extended one elegant finger and gingerly prodded the pile of blankets. When that did not elicit a response the prince examined the mound on the bed carefully, then reached forward and gave it a sharp poke somewhere towards the middle. The blankets shifted with a slight grunt but quickly subsided once more. Sensing that victory was near, the elf gave the mound another, harder poke, this time producing a muffled yelp and a lot more movement as the blankets shifted again, peeling back to reveal a dishevelled looking ranger who blinked up blearily at his friend.

"Good morning, Estel!" the elf tried again with a bright smile.

Strider merely gave his friend an incredulous stare before pulling the covers back over his head and rolling over in the opposite direction to the annoying figure on the side of his bed.

The elf decided to try a different tactic. "Aragorn, if you do not get up right now, I shall fetch your brothers, and you know as well as I that their methods of waking someone are far less pleasant than mine!"

Pippin blinked. Aragorn? But he was soon distracted from the thought that Strider had yet another name as a muffled growl sounded from underneath the blankets.

"This is the first time in at least six months that I have slept in a proper bed. It is the first time in at least six years that I have slept in my own bed. I do not intend to rise any earlier than is absolutely necessary."

Having mustered his strength to utter these words, the ranger again subsided and not even another poke from Legolas had any effect to rouse him. Pippin watched, still hidden behind the door, as the elf stood back from the bed, seemingly perplexed as to how he would wake his friend. A sudden, decidedly evil smile appeared on his fair face and he retreated to a safe distance, still smiling, and opened his mouth.

"ORCS! Ambush!"

Pippin jumped, startled out of his wits and glanced behind him frantically, half-expecting to see a horde of orcs rushing towards him. The shout had greater effect on the ranger, who leapt from his soft, warm bed, clutching a knife he had seized from a nearby table. Urgently shaking off the dredges of sleep, Strider scanned the surrounding vicinity of his bedroom, but the only orc in sight was that which had awakened him. Undaunted, the ranger proceeded to advance on said orc, brandishing his knife dangerously. A feral look was in his eyes as he stalked his prey, which had begun to back away hastily.

"Estel, what are you doing with that knife?"

"Is it not obvious? I am hunting orcs, or at least a certain orc who has blonde hair, is curiously enough the prince of an elven realm and who is about to lose his right arm for waking an extremely tired ranger from his extremely pleasant sleep."

"Estel, I need that arm."

"And I need my sleep. It's a fair trade."

"No it's not," the elf protested, hurriedly ducking a blow aimed in his direction.

"You are right." The elf relaxed slightly, only to tense again at the man's next words. "My sleep is worth two arms."

"My father will not be pleased if you remove me of my arms. He would surely attack Imladris. You would not risk open war with Mirkwood?"

Pippin watched in fascination as the two, a prince of the elves and a grim, dangerous ranger circled the room, the former taking the occasional leap over the bed to avoid the advancing human.

"What are you looking at, Pippin?"

Startled, the young hobbit nearly let out a yell but managed to muffle it and shush Merry, who had approached behind him, at the same time. Silently he pointed inside the room and Merry's eyes widened as he saw Strider apparently about to attack Legolas with a knife for the second time in as many days. As they watched, the elf seized a pillow and launched it at the man in an attempt to ward off his attacker, but the ranger simply dodged and continued to advance.

"It was _necessary_, _mellon nin_," Legolas reasoned somewhat desperately, ducking another swing. "The council is today and your presence is required. And I imagine that it would be to your and everyone else's advantage if you were awake!"

"The council." Strider halted in his attempts to dismember his friend and dropped onto his bed dejectedly. Deeming that it was safe to approach, Legolas perched on the very edge of the bedstead, ready for flight and a sufficient distance from the man to avoid any blows directed his way. However, the ranger did not even glance in his direction, instead staring at the floor as he turned the knife over and over in his hands. "I had almost forgotten."

"I thought as much," replied Legolas dryly. When Strider did not respond the elf edged closer to his friend, recognising that the human's mind had become occupied with heavier matters.

"I have long dreaded this, Legolas. I have often hoped that it would not come about during my lifetime." The ranger's words were quiet and the hobbits had to strain to hear him.

Wanting to hear more, yet slightly uncomfortable at the thought of listening to the obviously private conversation between the two friends, Pippin tugged Merry away from the door by his sleeve. "Should we be listening to this?" he whispered.

"If we leave now they'll be sure to hear us," replied Merry. "No, it's best that we stay until we can slip away unnoticed."

Pippin nodded, pleased with his friend's response and both hobbits eagerly edged closer to the door, listening intently but making sure that they remained hidden from view.

"You are not alone in this," Legolas was saying. "There are many who will support you whatever path you choose, you know that."

"It is not the strength of my friends which I doubt." Strider's tone was bitter and the two hobbits outside the room stared at each other, surprised at the emotion behind the words.

The elf however, almost seemed to be expecting them. "You are not bound to the fate of those who came before you, Estel. You will face the same evil and you will defeat it."

Looking at his friend, the elf was surprised to see a small smile tinting his face, easing the weathered creases on the man's brow. "What is it?"

"Arwen said those very words to me last night," said the ranger softly.

"We had wondered where you were," the elf replied, and a smile lit his face also. "Elladan and Elrohir had a wager going."

Strider chuckled. "I would expect no less from the sons of Elrond."

"Of which you are one," Legolas reminded him.

"Not by blood."

"No. By choice. And that is worth just as much, if not more."

The smile on the man's face deepened as he looked to his friend, clasping his shoulder in silent thanks. Quiet descended for a brief moment as the elf returned the gesture, but it was soon broken by the man's rough voice.

"Who won?"

"I did. Remind me to thank Arwen, for she has won me a new dagger."

"Where is my thanks?" demanded the ranger in jest. "I played just as much of a role in your victory as did Arwen!"

"True," replied his friend. "Yet Arwen did not just attempt to attack me with a knife."

"You deserved it," said the ranger evenly as he laid the blade down on the nearby table and swung his long legs onto the bed, lying back amongst the many cushions that decorated its surface.

Turning to face the open window from his position on the end of the man's bed, Legolas crossed his legs beneath him, humming softly as he watched the leaves on the trees outside dance gracefully in the light morning breeze. The ranger closed his eyes, enjoying the soothing sound of his friend's song.

The two remained as such for many minutes and Pippin began to feel hunger pangs plaguing the hole where his stomach should have been. He tugged on Merry's sleeve once again but the other hobbit resisted, still peering into the room. Just as Pippin was about to give up on his cousin and venture out in search of breakfast by himself, the elf spoke.

"I had the opportunity to talk with the hobbits last night after supper."

"Did you?" the ranger replied, playing with the corner of one of his blankets.

"They told me of the Shire. It sounds a beautiful place."

"It is."

"They also mentioned your little trip from Bree."

"Indeed?"

Pippin thought that Strider sounded slightly nervous.

Legolas, still looking out of the window, went on. "Pippin in particular told me of something I found most interesting."

"Really?" The man's voice was slightly higher than usual.

"He said that you fought a Nazgul single-handedly."

"Nay," Strider protested. "I did no such thing."

Merry turned to Pippin, who returned the look, puzzled. Searching the haze of memories which made up that terrifying night, the image of the ranger emerging from the darkness wielding both sword and flame and forcing the creatures away from he and his friends, was amongst the clearest to Pippin. Apparently Legolas was also somewhat dubious of his friend's claim, for his eyebrows had risen in surprise.

"I find it hard to believe that Pippin is one who would lie," the price said, and the listening hobbit's chest swelled in pride. "I also doubt that he would have imagined seeing something as memorable as that. Not to mention that Frodo carries a wound made by a Mordor blade."

"Pippin did not lie."

Legolas waited for Strider to continue, but when no words seemed to be forthcoming he questioned the man further.

"You did fight one of the Nazgul then?"

"Not precisely." The ranger paused, then, seeing the elf's expectant look, continued reluctantly. "There was more than one," he mumbled.

"There was more than one," repeated the elf flatly.

"Yes." Strider nodded, and apparently deciding that the conversation had reached its end, moved to curl back up under his many blankets. The prince however, was not ready to let the subject rest just yet and pulled the blankets back from over the man's head.

"You fought more than one ringwraith by yourself."

"Five."

"Five ringwraiths."

"Yes."

The elf nodded, a little too calmly, thought Pippin. Thus, when the usually soft-spoken elf exploded, he was not altogether surprised.

"By the Valar, Estel, of all the foolish things which you have done in your life, that must rank among the highest!"

"What else was I to do?" the ranger protested, sitting up defensively. "I could not let them take the hobbits. They had already wounded Frodo!"

About to argue, Legolas stopped abruptly as he realised the truth of the man's words. The ranger lay back down, satisfied that he had proven his point.

A sudden mischievous gleam lit the prince's eyes. "Have your brothers been informed of your little adventure as of yet?"

"Not the precise details, no."

"Would those be the details concerning exactly how many of Sauron's most terrible creatures you confronted at one time, by yourself, might I add."

The man nodded suspiciously.

"It would be interesting to see how they reacted," remarked the elf thoughtfully.

Strider raised his head from the cushion upon which it rested. "You wouldn't."

"I would."

"Legolas…" The man's tone was half-warning, half-pleading and the elf relented with a merry laugh.

"Do not fear, I shall not be the one to tell them. Yet you are not to blame me if they find out one day from another source, for I believe that the hobbits were quite impressed with your skills with a sword, not to mention your outstanding bravery, or what I prefer to call inconceivable foolishness."

"Hopefully I will pass from this world long before that day comes." The man's tone was joking, yet there was an abrupt silence within the room which startled the listening hobbits.

"Legolas?"

"Do not." The elf's voice had become tense, losing some of its musical tones.

"Do not what?" the ranger asked, puzzled.

"Do not joke about such things."

The human's eyes widened slightly in understanding. Once again his voice was soft and the hobbits had to strain their ears to hear.

"You know that I will die someday, _mellon nin,_" said the ranger carefully.

"_Iston_," replied the elf. "But I do not wish to think of that day for many years to come."

"Legolas…"

"No, Aragorn. One day you will leave me and there is nothing that either of us, that anyone, not even the Valar themselves, can do to prevent it. You will die. The time of the elves will fade, is fading even now as my kin pass over the sea, and you will not be there."

"It is not my choice, _mellon nin_."

"I know that," said the elf, more harshly than he intended. "But you are mortal, you grow, age and die. I do not. I live." Suddenly the elf turned to Aragorn in remorse, realising how his words must have sounded to his human friend, one who shared his life with so many of the elven kindred, who had given his heart to an immortal. "Forgive me, Estel. I speak of this when I have no business to do so. I think of myself when you are the one who will-" Legolas stopped, unsure of how to continue and unwilling to meet the man's silver-grey eyes.

His friend however, had no such qualms. Gently he raised his fingers and lifted the other's chin, asking him to meet his gaze, and the elf reluctantly did so. "It is your business, Legolas. Do not ever think that it is not. I am mortal. I know that. The day will come when I will leave these shores, whether I wish it or not. It is the fate of all men."

"I do not want you to die."

"Nor do I wish it for you, Legolas. Yet we are both warriors, are we not?"

The elf gave a slight nod of his head, realising where the man was headed.

"And as a warrior you know that each time either one of us goes into battle there is the chance that we will not return."

The elf stood from the bed and moved agitatedly to the large window from which light was streaming into the room. For several moments he watched the sun now rising above the treetops, then twisted round abruptly to face the ranger still sitting on the bed. "But for you death is a certainty!" he replied, almost angrily. "No matter how skilled you are in battle. Does that not bother you?"

"Of course it does! Not a day passes that I do not think of the day when I must leave my family, leave you and Arwen, but I cannot live my life despairing of that one moment when my soul leaves Middle-earth!"

The man's swift, heated answer seemed to startle the elf and he turned back towards the window, away from his friend. Seeing that his words had shaken the elf, with whom he rarely broached this subject, if it was broached at all, Strider stood to his feet and approached his friend. "Legolas. Look at me." The elf turned slowly and the hobbits were shocked and slightly scared at the mix of emotions burning in the bright blue orbs. Anger was there, but also grief, and, deeper, fear.

The ranger began again, more calmly. "I do not fear death, Legolas. I fear leaving those whom I love, but I will not do so today, and hopefully will not do so for many a year. As I said, I cannot, I _will_ not, live my life fearing that which I know must come. But it has not come yet and that is what matters."

"I still do not wish you to die," the elf responded stubbornly, folding his arms, but the furious mix of emotions was fading from his eyes, replaced by their usual blue light which was echoed in the smile tinging his lips, and Aragorn knew that the elf understood. Although the subject had not been forgotten, it had been laid to rest, for the moment at least. A smirk began to work its way across the ranger's face as he sat back down on his bed.

"If it helps, _mellon nin_, I swear to you that I will do my best to see you killed before that day comes to pass."

"Estel!"

"Nay Legolas, I am serious. No longer will I save you in every battle in which we fight. No longer will I slay the last orc about to plunge its blade into your unguarded back, whilst you, completely oblivious to the danger, tease a certain ranger about the state of his clothing; something which I am sure only happened, mind you, because said ranger had to put his own life _and_ his clothes in jeopardy to save said elf-"

"I do not require _saving_." The prince's eyes had hardened once more, but the anger in them was not at all reminiscent of the fear-filled fury of the past minutes, but rather an proud gleam also tinted with humour. Legolas drew himself up stiffly to face the grinning ranger.

"Surely you are not still under the delusion that you would have survived our last trip to Mirkwood together if I had not killed that last goblin?" the ranger enquired disbelievingly.

"That was different."

"Why?"

"I was unconscious."

"Exactly."

"What is it you mean by 'exactly'? If I had been aware of my surroundings I would have been perfectly able to defend myself!"

"But you were not, and thus did require saving," argued the ranger triumphantly.

"I was only unconscious because-" Legolas halted abruptly.

"Only because _what_, _mellon nin_?" When the elf did not answer, the ranger supplied his friend's words gleefully. "Because you had been knocked out by your previous opponent?"

A loud thud and a yelp from the ranger was the only answer.

"I still saved you," Strider muttered from his position on the floor beside his bed.

A comfortable silence descended between the two friends as the ranger climbed back onto the bed and submerged himself once again in his pile of blankets. It was broken only by two words.

"Human."

"Elf."

At the door, Merry and Pippin looked at each other, somewhat baffled. When no further conversation seemed to be forthcoming, Merry shrugged and set off down the corridor with Pippin trailing behind. After they had left, an amused voice sounded.

"It is strange. For such talkative creatures, the hobbits can be quite quiet when they wish."

Silence.

"Estel?"

There was a slight grunt.

"You really do need to get up."

-----------------------------

A good while later, Merry sighed. He was lost. Granted, he was lost in a beautiful elven sanctuary, but the fact of it remained, he was still lost. There was a sound from behind him and he turned to look at Pippin, who had a frown on his face and a hand on his stomach.

"Merry?"

"What?"

"I'm hungry."

TBC

------------------------------

**_Mellon nin_- my friend**

**_Iston_- I know**

**_Nazgul_- ringwraith**

**Thanks for reading everyone and please review, I love to hear what people think. Again, replies to reviews have been emailed when possible, so if you want one, please make sure I can reach** **you! Bye for now!**


	4. The Courage of Samwise

**Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings although I've now added a ranger to my Christmas list.**

**Howdy, and welcome to yet another chapter of In Imladris. Thank you soooooo much to all of you absolutely wonderful reviewers, I've emailed replies when I could. Sorry about the delay for this chapter, I got distracted by men, elves and snowballs hehe! (That's another story I posted a couple of days ago, for those of you thinking that I'm really weird right now.) Hope you enjoy the new chapter!**

**A/N: Like many other fanfic authors, I have chosen to deviate from Tolkien's work in writing that Gilraen, Aragorn's mother, was killed along with Arathorn, just for the purposes of my story.**

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Chapter 4: The Courage of Samwise

Samwise Gamgee's mouth hung open as he stared at the peculiar spectacle which was fast approaching him. From ringwraiths to rangers, he had seen many a strange sight since leaving his home on Bagshot Row, but this one beat them all solid. Never, in all his time as a hobbit of the Shire, had he ever though that he would see a dripping wet, fully-clothed prince of the elves stalking in his direction with a furious expression on his face.

As the elf continued to stride directly towards him, Sam edged back as far as he possibly could on the stone bench on which he sat. Frodo and Bilbo, who rested next to him, were also watching the approaching elf, Bilbo looking much amused at the sight of the sodden prince.

Much to Sam's relief, the elf veered to the right following a gravel path which ran alongside the stone seat. Finally noticing the three hobbits as he passed within a few feet of them, Legolas paused, gave a graceful bow as trails of water trickled down his pointed ears, then hurriedly continued on his way.

However, the Mirkwood elf altered his path abruptly as he caught sight of two dark-haired figures approaching from the very direction in which he was headed. Catching sight of the soaked being, a grin appeared on each identical face and their steps quickened simultaneously. Sam watched in puzzlement which bordered on fascination as Legolas glanced round frantically, apparently searching for an escape route. His face lit at the sight of a heavily limbed oak tree directly above him and he crouched slightly, preparing to leap into its branches. However, it was too late for escape, for Elladan and Elrohir had already reached his side. Despite the blonde elf's vehement protests, they each seized a slender arm and began to guide him back towards the hobbits.

"Come, Legolas," one of the twins was saying, Sam couldn't tell which, as they came within hearing distance. "If you are to journey with these admirable hobbits, you must get to know them a little better." Reaching the small party, the two seated themselves cross-legged on the ground before the bench, pulling their resisting friend down between them.

"I would prefer to make a slight detour to my room where I have a spare change of clothing," Legolas stated firmly, glaring at the twins, but his expression quickly changed to one of concern as he glanced towards the hobbits. "I mean no offence, master _periannath_," he added quickly, worried that he had offended the small creatures, who quickly hastened to assure him that they had taken no insult at his words.

"There is no time for that," said the other twin. "You are leaving soon, and there will be no chance for idle chatter on the quest."

The elf prince looked at his friend with his eyebrows raised, an act which only caused more water to trickle down his brow. "I believe that it is quite a long walk to Mordor, Elladan," he said bluntly, but the other elf shook his head impatiently.

"Of course it is, _tithen las_," he replied. "What I meant was that it will be hard to get a word in whilst in the company of the Masters Merry and Pippin." Sam chuckled at this, knowing only too well how true it was.

"Must you call me that?" Legolas demanded irritably as he pulled his long hair from where it was plastered to his back and began to wring it out between quick fingers. Both twins nodded simultaneously. The elf prince subsided with a sigh and resumed ridding himself of what water he could.

Silence reigned within the small party for some minutes, and Sam began to grow curious about a matter which had garnered his attention. However, he kept his mouth closed, too nervous to speak before the elves about whom he had heard so many stories. Sam began to hope that one of his fellow hobbits would ask about that which plagued him and thus save him from doing so himself. Yet when someone finally did speak, it was only Bilbo inquiring whether the ale in the Green Dragon was still at its old standard, which, Frodo assured him, it was. Sam waited patiently for the issue to arise in the general conversation, but finally his curiosity got the better of him. Taking a deep breath, he gathered his courage into one big ball and asked the question which had been badgering him ever since he had first seen a soaking wet elf prince march by.

"Mr. Legolas, sir?" His voice echoed in the stone courtyard. He took another breath and went on, his determination growing. "Not that it's any of my business or anything, but I was just wondering if there's a reason you're so wet, it being the middle of the day, and you in your clothes and all." His voice trailed off into silence and he glanced nervously at the elf, waiting for his reaction.

Legolas' lips tightened and Sam's heart quailed briefly before he realised that the elf's anger was not directed at him, but at someone else. "The reason that I'm so wet, Master Gamgee," he answered tersely, "is because that…Human…has an twisted sense of humour and no concern for his own safety!"

Bilbo chuckled. "What did that ranger do this time?" he asked, and Sam realised with a start that they were talking about Strider.

"For a reason inconceivable to any mind other than his, he pushed me into the lake."

The twins both broke into merry laughter at this revelation, which only increased in volume as the blonde elf glared at them. "Do not tell me that you did not expect he had something to do with my current state," Legolas grumbled, and both grinned at him, still laughing.

"We had our suspicions of course, but it is so much more enjoyable hearing it from you," the elder twin answered.

"I am glad that I was able to provide you with some entertainment, Elladan," the archer muttered, and moved to stand, but was quickly restrained by the other elf, who tugged him back to the ground.

"Nay, Legolas, you know we mean you no harm," he said. "Unlike our little brother it seems. May I ask why he felt it necessary to push you into the lake?"

"I believe he claimed it was revenge for depriving him of his sleep yesterday morning," he replied, then a smile formed on his face. "But he was running too fast to discern his exact words."

"Running?" Sam echoed.

"I imagine that he wished to avoid any revenge the prince here may have dealt out after he had emerged from the lake," Bilbo said with a chuckle. The youngest son of Thranduil merely smiled.

Elladan was eying the Mirkwood elf curiously. "I must admit, Legolas, I am surprised that you are not seeking vengeance upon my little brother at this very moment," he said, and the blonde elf mumbled a reply under his breath, too low for Sam to catch.

"I beg your pardon?" enquired Elrohir and Legolas glowered at the younger twin, knowing full well that the sharp elven ears had heard him quite clearly the first time.

"I said, he's with Arwen," he repeated abruptly, and the twins' laughter renewed. Frodo and Sam glanced at each other, puzzled as to why the presence of the lovely elf maid would stop the skilled archer from pursuing the man.

Seeing the puzzled looks of the two younger hobbits, Bilbo explained, his legs swaying gently between bench and ground. "The Lady Arwen is somewhat protective when it comes to the Dunedan," he announced, nodding in the direction of Legolas. "As I am sure the prince here can tell you."

"Valar," muttered Legolas. "Arwen did not speak to me for weeks after the last incident. After first lecturing me for near upon an hour that is. My ears are still sore," he added, and nimble fingers reached up to rub one tenderly. Sam could not help but stare at the elf, chewing his lip bemusedly. This behaviour did not fit at all with the proud elven prince who had represented his father and king at the previous day's council, who had heatedly defended Strider against the Man from Gondor. Sam glanced around at his companions to see if they were having the same thoughts, but his looks were in vain.

Frodo seemed amused rather than puzzled, but then, he had heard more of the elves and their ways from his uncle. "What happened?" he questioned curiously, and Sam glanced over at the other hobbit, whose blue eyes stood out sharply against his dark curls and still too pale face.

"Legolas pushed our brother off a cliff," stated Elladan simply, and the hobbits gaped at the prince in shock.

"Nay, he fell off that cliff of his own accord," protested Legolas defensively, raising his hands as if to proclaim his innocence. "I just happened to be the only person in the area when it happened and thus got the blame."

"Is that so?" enquired Elrohir, his left eyebrow raised sceptically. "For Estel claims something different."

"Of course he does," replied the blonde as though such a thing were obvious. "It sounds less foolish if he blames someone else for his own clumsiness. And anyway, it was only a little cliff."

"Nevertheless, my point is that you still had to face the Evenstar's wrath," interrupted Bilbo, as Elrohir's other eyebrow rose to the same level as the first.

Sam blinked. The word 'wrath' did not seem appropriate when discussing the lovely elf maiden. True enough, she had faced five of the Nazgul, and won, yet when he had seen her around Rivendell, most often with Strider come to think of it, she had seemed calm and gentle, the picture of a proper elf maid he thought.

Frodo's thoughts however, were of a different kind and he was looking at the elf prince curiously. "Excuse me, Legolas?" he asked politely, and the archer turned to him. "You seem to know Stri- Aragorn, I mean, quite well."

"Aye, we have known each other for many years," the elf replied.

"When did you meet him?" Sam blurted out eagerly, his cheeks reddening as he dared to ask another question which he had been wondering about ever since that first day in the gardens when the elf had ambushed the ranger from the trees.

Legolas looked to the twins. "He could not have been much more than two summers old," he said, and the Noldor elves nodded their agreement.

"Aye," Elladan confirmed. "He had not lived with us for very long, had he, Elrohir?"

"Nay," his younger brother replied, shaking his head.

By this time soft smiles had come over all three elven faces as they recalled the day when an elf prince and a future ranger had first met.

-----------------

Two elves sat on the steps of the Last Homely House watching the road which stretched around the cliffs as it made its way into Imladris. Often, their eyes would stray to the small toddler who played in the sand in front of them and a gentle smile would cross their faces.

"He is late."

"He is always late," the other elf replied easily.

"Nay, he usually arrives in good time."

"Ah, but you speak of those instances when he represents his father. I, on the other hand, speak of the occasions when he is responsible for his own arrival."

The two were interrupted by a squeal from the child, who was pointing in the direction of the road which led into Imladris.

"_Roch_!"

"Ai, Estel, _roch,_" said Elladan distractedly, turning back to his twin. "Yet even when he is accompanied by a contingent of guards he still manages to arrive late, not to mention injured, inevitably because, if I may quote our absent friend himself, 'he had a small encounter with some orcs.'"

"Or wargs."

"Goblins…"

"Humans…"

"Wolves…"

"Then there was that occasion with the trolls..."

"_Edhel_!" the child cried, pointing again to the road, then looking to his adopted brothers for approval.

"Yes, Estel, _edhel,_" repeated the younger twin absentmindedly, focused on the discussion. "I must admit, I am still amazed that his father let him return to Imladris after that little adventure, which I believe you instigated."

"_I_ was not to blame, if that is what you are implying."

"I am not implying it, I am stating it as a fact."

By this time, the child had decided that he would have to embark upon more drastic actions if he were to gain the notice of his usually attentive brothers. He climbed unsteadily to his feet and moved slowly towards them, determinedly managing to keep his footing. Reaching the twins, who were now discussing whether being caught in the Misty Mountains during a sudden snowstorm qualified as an adventure or merely a mishap, the dark-haired toddler pushed at his eldest brother's knee with a small hand.

"_Edhel_!" he demanded again and the elf, still arguing with his twin, swept the child into his arms, eliciting a delighted cry of surprise from the boy. Content now that he was secure in his brother's arms, the child settled and began to play with a hanging strand of his brother's long hair. The two elves resumed their discussion.

"I have always wondered how such a skilled warrior can be injured so often when he is not even in a proper battle," reflected Elrohir thoughtfully.

Elladan contemplated the issue. "I do not think that it is his skills which fail him, it is more the sheer number of assailants which he encounters. Yes, he is wounded more often than either of us, yet he also encounters more foes than us. In terms of averages, I would think that it evens out."

"But we are not speaking of averages."

"Are we not?"

"Nay, we are speaking of each actual encounter."

"But we are older than he is, by many a year. Do we then count those injuries we received before his birth?"

"Yes, but even so, I think that he wins."

"Are we competing?"

"Aren't we always?"

"Aye."

"Then he wins."

There was a lull in the conversation as the brothers reflected dispiritedly on their defeat to one who did not even know he was in competition. Still in his elder brother's lap, the child had grown bored with his strand of hair and was shifting about trying to achieve the best possible view of the road which led to the Last Homely House. His movements stilled suddenly as his eyes fixed once more on something making its way slowly up the valley road.

"Anyway, I imagine that he will be injured when he arrives," said Elladan with a grin.

"Is that a wager?" his twin asked, eyes lighting in interest.

"I believe it is. Shall we say, a new quiver that our Mirkwood friend has at least one-" He broke off as the child in his lap began patting his face with a small hand, urging him to look towards the gates of Imladris. "What is it, Estel?"

"_Edhel_!" the child demanded again, his other hand pointing towards the gates, and the Noldor elf finally looked in the direction in which the child urged. There, trotting carefully into the gates of the Last Homely House, was a grey horse bearing a rider who was leaning forward unsteadily, grasping fixedly to the horse's mane.

"Legolas!"

Hurriedly passing the small child in his lap to his twin, Elladan rose swiftly to his feet and hurried towards horse and rider. Reaching them, he placed a hand on the animal's neck, easing it to a halt as he looked with concern at the figure on it's back.

"Elrohir?" the blonde elf asked uncertainly, looking down with unfocused eyes at the elf by his side.

"Nay, Legolas, it is I, Elladan." He watched suspiciously as the slim elf dismounted with far less than his usual grace. "It has been a long while since you confused my brother and I, _tithen las_."

"Must you call me that?" the new arrival muttered, placing a hand on his horse's neck affectionately, or, thought Elladan privately, to steady himself. The prince of Mirkwood then took a step forward and would have fallen had it not been for the quick reactions of the dark-haired elf by his side who grasped him firmly about the waist.

"Legolas, what is wrong?"

The blonde elf did not answer, instead murmuring softly to his steed, thanking him for the journey.

By this time Elrohir had reached them, still carrying Estel in his arms. Catching his twin's eye, he motioned in the direction of the new arrival. Following his brother's gaze, Elladan saw a deep dark stain spreading itself swiftly across the elf's right calf. Without warning, the Noldo scooped his lithe friend into his arms, and, ignoring the furious, if somewhat dazed, protests, proceeded to carry him into the house. His younger twin followed close behind bearing the small child who was watching the new arrival with fascination.

"Elrohir?"

"Yes?"

"I believe you owe me a new quiver."

-------------------------------

Legolas of Mirkwood woke to the dimming light of evening in Rivendell. Soft shadows played across the faces of the two dark-haired Noldos who were both dozing in soft armchairs by his bed, eyes half-glazed in sleep. Sitting up carefully in his bed, Legolas assessed himself for injuries and, much to his satisfaction, found that the previously slashing pain in his leg had dimmed to a soft ache. He pushed back the blankets silently and made to stand, but halted with a start at the sight of a small figure standing in the doorway, swaying on its feet with tiredness. Seeing that one of the room's occupants had awakened, the figure moved cautiously forward, but as his curiosity and courage grew, he slowly made his way across the room to the bed on which the strange elf sat.

Legolas stared at the small dark-haired child with the silver-grey eyes, who stared back just as intently from his position on the floor beside the bed.

"_Edhel_," he stated firmly, and proceeded to attempt the challenging climb onto the large bed on which Legolas still sat, mystified at the appearance of the new arrival who was currently pulling the blankets off of the tall bed in his determined attempts to reach the top. Gingerly, Legolas reached forward and grasped the small body about the waist, lifting him onto the end of the soft mattress. The child climbed over the mounds of blankets to the bewildered elf and looked at the prince of Mirkwood closely. "Mine," he declared finally, then, apparently satisfied, sat himself down in the elf's lap with a tired sigh. A little hand reached out to a nearby blanket, but fell short of its goal. A soft whimper sounded, and Legolas hurriedly drew a thick cover about the small body curled up in his lap. Within minutes the child was asleep.

Legolas sat unmoving, hardly daring to breathe in case he should accidentally wake the small child. However, his injured leg began to complain increasingly due to its cramped position underneath the new arrival and Legolas soon felt that something had to be done.

"_Elladan_," he whispered softly, hoping desperately that the elder twin would wake. Yet the elf slept on, oblivious to his friend's predicament.

"_Elrohir_," he tried next, slightly louder, and the Noldo shifted in his sleep. "_Elrohir!_" he tried again and the other elf's glazed eyes cleared slightly. Upon seeing his little brother wrapped securely in a blanket in the lap of a strained looking elf prince, Elrohir's eyes widened. He stood to his feet quickly, knocking against his twin in his haste, and swiftly but gently took the young human from the blonde elf's lap, cradling the child against his chest still wrapped in the soft blankets. Legolas let out a soft sigh as the pressure on his wounded leg was relieved. Elladan had wakened fully by this time and he stood up, taking the toddler who had wakened slightly from all the movement, from his brother's arms. Gently swaying back and forth in an effort to lull the little one back to sleep, he turned him carefully in his arms until the small child faced the elf prince.

"Legolas, meet Estel," Elladan whispered softly.

Silver-grey eyes stared curiously into bright blue ones.

------------------------

The twins paused at this point in their tale and Sam, following their gaze, became aware of a two figures nearing the group with arms entwined. As they came closer he recognized Strider and the elf maid, Arwen, and looked immediately to Legolas, curious as to what his reaction would be to the man's appearance. The prince's stare was icy as he glared at the approaching man furiously. Yet Arwen swiftly caught his eye, and he softened his gaze hastily. The elf maid then smiled at Frodo and Sam, who thought privately that if anyone were to rival the beauty of Rosie Cotton, it would be the Evenstar of Rivendell. The two were as opposite as could be; one tall, dark and slender, holding the mysterious beauty of a midnight sky in her raven hair and deep blue eyes; the other wearing all the warmth of a summer's day, with hair the colour of the corn at harvest, and a golden light in her dancing brown eyes.

As the two came to a stop next to the small group, Sam jumped to his feet to offer the elf maid his seat, but she waved to him to sit with a gentle smile, and sank lightly onto the grass, carefully folding her dress under her. Strider remained standing, apparently wary of relaxing his guard around Legolas enough to sit down, but Arwen tugged lightly at his hand and he too joined the ever-growing group around the bench.

As conversation resumed amongst the gathered company, Legolas threw an occasional daggered glare at his human friend, being careful to do so only whilst Arwen's attention was focused elsewhere. As she asked after Frodo's health, he took the opportunity to lean in close to Sam conspiratorially.

"I still walk with a limp because of my first meeting with that human," the elf confided in an extremely loud whisper to Sam, who failed to stifle a chuckle at this most un-elf like of comments. Strider's sharp ears easily caught his friend's words, as perhaps was intended, and he turned swiftly, immediately guessing what tale the twins had been telling the hobbits before Arwen and he had arrived.

"If you had not been so careless as to let yourself get injured in the first place-" he began, but the elf raised his hand in protest.

"Nay, Estel, you would have sat on me whether I was injured or not," he said in a voice which brooked no argument.

"Very well then, it was the twins' fault for falling asleep and thus allowing me entry to the room in the first place."

"You have a point," Legolas conceded thoughtfully, but the twins exchanged outraged glances and began to protest their brother's claim indignantly. "Nay, you cannot blame us!" began one. "Why, we were not even awake!" continued the other, but Aragorn just shook his head at his brothers' denial of guilt.

"But that is our very point," he argued, and Legolas nodded in agreement. " If you had been awake then you would have been able to prevent both my entering the room and also any attempt I made to climb onto the bed, thus further injuring a guest who had been so careless as to let himself be attacked by several wargs."

"They were not wargs, they were wolves," interjected Legolas, but the ranger raised his eyebrows disbelievingly.

"Elladan?" he inquired.

"Wargs," was the reply and the ranger nodded satisfied. "As I was saying, there is no doubt that it was the twins' fault."

"Nay!" The debate raged for some minutes and finally Elladan turned to the hobbits. "Master _periannath_, would you be so kind as to assist my honourable brother and I in our defence?

Sam reddened at the thought of an elf asking for his opinion, yet Bilbo shook his head in firm rejection of the elf's request. "Nay, Master Elladan, do not think to drag us hobbits into this mess. You will have to fight it out yourselves."

Elladan glared at the elderly hobbit who returned the look easily, leaning back a little in order to stretch his back. Finally the millennia-old elf conceded defeat and instead turned to his sister.

"Arwen-" he began, but his twin hurriedly interrupted him.

"Do not ask her, she is biased," he hissed.

"She is our sister," the elder twin protested.

"Exactly," Elrohir replied. "We have no chance of gaining her support."

"The answer does not change, no matter who you seek to ask. There is no denying that it was your fault," Strider affirmed triumphantly. The twins looked scandalised.

Bilbo had been tapping his feet against the leg of the bench impatiently. "When are you going to finish your story?" he asked. "Some of us have better things to do than to listen to a group of elves and a ranger argue all day."

Elrohir laughed. "Very well, Bilbo, we shall continue, if only for you," he replied, and the elderly hobbit nodded in satisfaction as the tale resumed.

----------------------

In the weeks since Legolas' dramatic arrival at Rivendell, Estel had attached himself firmly to the elf prince, becoming a small shadow which followed the archer wherever he went. Legolas, for his part, seemed to have attached himself just as closely to the small child, and could often be seen going about Imladris with a child on his back, rather than his usual weapons. Estel seemed to have realised how much control he held over the blonde elf, with the result that it soon became a common sight to see the respected prince sneaking cautiously into the extensive kitchens of Imladris and emerging minutes later with an armful of sweets, cakes and pastries and a guilty expression on his face. However, Lord Elrond held the suspicion that the kitchen staff had grown wise to the prince's exploits, for the treats Legolas carried began to both grow in number and shift towards those favoured by both prince and child.

The twins had found the ever-deepening friendship between the two somewhat of a problem, for Legolas delighted in making the child laugh, something which was sure to occur if one of the twins met with an unfortunate accident. The Mirkwood elf seemed to have found a new use for his sharply honed warrior skills, with the result that the twins began walking around their own home with far more care and caution than was usual, keeping a sharp eye out for the elf prince and his small shadow lurking behind curtains, corners or doors.

Late one morning, nearly two months after the wood-elf's arrival, two identical elves could be seen from the eastern windows of the Last Homely House standing amidst lush grass underneath a sturdy, sprawling oak. Their fair voices were raised as they looked up into the branches trying in vain to see the two figures, one big, one small, which were hidden amongst the leaves.

"Legolas!" called one of the elves. "He is too small to be up there! It is not safe!"

"You do not trust me?" Legolas' face appeared suddenly out of the branches, looking hurt.

"No!"

In response, the wood-elf stuck his tongue out at the other two elves, who looked slightly shocked, before disappearing back into the leaves.

"Legolas! What if Estel sees you doing that? He will imitate you!"

A merry laugh floated down from amongst the branches. "He taught me!" came the reply, followed by the sound of a child's giggle.

The twins sighed simultaneously. "Bring him down! Please!"

"Very well," Legolas said reluctantly and, after making sure that the child was secure on his back, began to carefully make his way down to the ground. As soon as the elf's feet were on firm earth, a small thunderbolt plummeted into Elladan's legs, giving them a swift hug, before giving the same treatment to Elrohir. The child then raced away towards the house, calling back to his new friend to race him.

With a grin at the twins, the elf prince stuck out his tongue at them before darting off after the small child, catching up with him easily, but then pretending to be unable to keep up, clasping his side as though he had a stitch. Peals of a child's laughter rang out over the gardens of Imladris.

The twins looked at each other.

"And _Ada_ says that _we_ are immature around Estel," muttered Elrohir with a sigh. Both twins turned and began to follow the now distant figures of elf and child back to the Last Homely House.

---------------

Sam stared at Strider, unable to believe that the grim-faced ranger who had led them from Bree was the same child in the twin's story. But then the Man, who had been fiddling with a twig he had found on the ground, looked at the stick he held and a smile curved over his stubbled face. Stealthily, he glanced at Legolas, who was still protesting to Elladan that it had been wolves, not wargs, who had attacked him, and positioned the small piece of wood between his fingers carefully. Suddenly he flipped the stick in the direction of the elf, who caught it just before it hit his forehead without pausing in his conversation. Aragorn sighed and turned to Arwen, who took his hand consolingly and proceeded to flip a stick of her own in the wood-elf's direction. It struck Legolas' brow lightly and the blonde elf looked at Arwen with an injured expression as he rubbed his forehead.

"That hurt," he muttered, and the ranger smirked at his friend in triumph.

"Speaking of hurts, Legolas, how is that you managed to make the journey to Imladris this time without even a scratch?" asked Elrohir.

"Indeed," said Elladan. "That is a most unusual feat for you, _tithen las_, to avoid orcs all the way from Mirkwood."

Legolas frowned. "Why must you always assume that I will run into orcs?"

"Because, dear prince, you could run into orcs whilst inside locked inside your own bedroom in your father's palace," replied Elrohir, with the air of one who had made just such a claim many a time before. Ignoring the prince's affronted expression he continued. "You have yet to answer my question. How is it that you arrived unharmed?"

Sam, glancing around, noticed that Strider had raised himself up so that he was resting on one forearm, and was looking at the prince with his eyes narrowed.

"As you well know, I was accompanied by a number of my father's advisors."

"True enough. But you still have not answered my question. How is it you are not injured?"

"I am perfectly capable of travelling somewhere without getting injured."

"Nay, _tithen ernil_, you are not. Now, my question?"

"You are wounded." Strider spoke suddenly and Sam jumped, almost having forgotten that the ranger was present.

"Nay, I am well," Legolas protested, but Sam was sure that a glimmer of guilt flickered across the other's face as he spoke.

The ranger stared at his friend closely, then stood to his feet and moved towards the wood-elf. "You are injured," he stated more firmly. "On your left thigh if I am not mistaken."

"It is a scratch only," the elf relented, but the ranger continued to approach. "A mere flesh wound!" he exclaimed as Strider seized his arm and began to pull him to his feet. "Strider!"

But the man ignored him and continued to pull the still-damp elf in the direction of the main house. The rest of the company looked on, Sam and Frodo somewhat puzzled, Arwen and Bilbo with smiles upon their faces, and the twins looking as though this was not at all an unusual occurrence.

"Is Legolas alright?" asked Sam, concerned.

"Last time he claimed he was 'well', he collapsed a short while later," replied Elrohir. "Yet, although he is skilled at hiding his injuries, it is rare that he is able to conceal a more serious one from Elladan and I."

The sounds of a protesting elf and a determined ranger echoed through the Last Homely House as Sam wondered about the strangeness of the big folk.

--------------

Not an hour had passed when the pair returned. The small company had moved to the dining room and a disgruntled ranger and a far more cheerful elf settled down at the table opposite the hobbits.

"Are you all right, Legolas?" asked Frodo.

"I am, thank you Frodo," replied the elf, selecting an apple from the bowl and throwing it to the ranger, then choosing one for himself and taking a small bite.

Both twins looked disbelievingly at the Mirkwood elf. "Estel?" They turned enquiringly to the ranger, who was staring at the apple held in his hands.

"He is well," Aragorn grunted, sending the elf a dirty look, but Legolas only looked more pleased and took another bite of apple.

"What was it this time?" Elrohir asked Legolas, but the other elf, chewing contentedly, did not answer, so the twin directed his attention to his little brother.

"Estel?"

"It was a scratch only," said the man, still staring at his apple. "A mere flesh wound."

A smile graced the fair being's lips as he took another bite.

TBC

-------------------

**_Periannath-_ hobbits**

**_Tithen las_- little leaf**

**_Tithen ernil_- little prince (princeling)**

**_Roch_- horse**

**­_Edhel_- elf**

**Hope you enjoyed this new, rather long, chapter. I couldn't find a good place to halve it because when I did, each bit seemed too short. I try to email replies to reviews, so if you want one, please make sure you log in or leave your address. Thank you for reading and please review! Pretty please! With sugar on top!**


	5. The Stubbornness of Dwarves

**Disclaimer: (singing drunkenly) I pillage and plunder and…really bad eggs…(trails off)…yoho!…or something like that anyway, but sadly I have not yet managed to steal the Lord of the Rings. It's Tolkien's, savvy?**

**Well, here it is. The (very) long awaited meeting of the elf and the dwarf, sorry it's so late. I'm really nervous about this chapter and I really hope that people like it. If you don't, you will no doubt find me under a table somewhere hiding from all the angry readers, but hopefully I will emerge in a couple of weeks. Enjoy!**

**A/N: Just to establish that I believe that the dwarf with the grey beard walking next to Gimli as he arrives in Rivendell in the film "The Fellowship of the Ring" is his father, Gloin. Also, I've tried to stay true to the events of Tolkien's world, but please forgive any inaccuracies.**

**-------------**

**Chapter 5: The Stubbornness of Dwarves**

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"But Estel…"

"No, Legolas. Somehow I do not believe that my father would look kindly on you shooting Lord Gloin of the Lonely Mountain."

The elf deflated with a frown, then suddenly brightened and began to open his mouth, but the human interrupted him quickly.

"Nor his son."

Another frown.

"Besides, you know how _Adar_ feels about you using your bow in the house."

"But Estel, Lord Elrond need never know that it was I who shot him."

"My father has known you for over two millennia, Legolas. I believe that he would be able to recognise one of your arrows without too much trouble. And no, you may not borrow one of mine."

"But Estel, you did not see him last night at supper! The bearded one kept remarking about how his father had been imprisoned in a cave! A cave! My father's palace is no cave!"

"The 'bearded one's' name is Gimli, and truthfully-"

"Do not say it, Strider."

"-the palace of Mirkwood-"

"Aragorn!"

"-is a cave."

Prince Legolas of Mirkwood glared at his human friend with his arms crossed. "It is not a cave."

"It is made of rock, it is underground, it is a cave. A very nice cave, to be sure, but a cave nonetheless."

With another glare, the elf rose from his seat and stalked away in the direction of the gardens which surrounded the Last Homely House. The remaining human got leisurely to his feet and ambled after his friend.

------------------

Aragorn quickly grabbed hold of his friend's sleeve as Legolas made to move after the short figure disappearing around some bushes.

"Peace, _mellon nin_."

"Release me."

"No."

"Now."

"I shall not release you until you give me your bow."

Angrily, the elf handed over the elegantly carved weapon. "There. Now release me."

"And your arrows."

Legolas glared at the human, but released the strap which held his quiver and passed it to the waiting ranger.

"And your knives."

Those were given over to.

"And I want your word that you will not harm any dwarves within Imladris using hand-to-hand combat."

"But Estel!"

The ranger merely held the elf's gaze calmly until his friend gave a small nod which could have meant anything.

"Legolas?"

"I will not harm any of the cave-dwellers."

Satisfied, the ranger released his friend. With a last glare, the elf moved swiftly over to a nearby oak and, with a quick leap, swung himself nimbly into its limbs, leaving the ranger behind on the ground. Undaunted, Aragorn settled down contentedly at the base of said tree and stretched out his long legs. He drew a pipe from one of his many pockets and lit it, releasing a soft sigh of enjoyment as grey smoke rings began to rise out of the bowl of the pipe and up into the branches above. After some minutes, he glanced up and searched the thickly leafed limbs, yet his sharp eyes were unable to locate the wood-elf whom he knew sat somewhere overhead. A corner of his mouth quirked slightly. He inhaled deeply, then blew a mouthful of smoke directly into the branches above.

A small but forceful barrage of acorns landed on his head.

---------------------

Sam, Pippin and Merry stared in fascination as a dwarf stomped past them, muttering angrily into his fiery red beard whilst fingering the small axe held in the loop of his belt. Seconds later a pleased-looking elf prince passed the three hobbits, greeting them with a nod and a satisfied smile as he walked gracefully by.

Merry stuck his hands into the pockets of his long green coat as he turned to his friends. "Do you think they had another argument?" he asked curiously as he watched the two figures, one short, one tall, turn down different corridors of the Last Homely House.

"As sure as my name's Samwise Gamgee, that's their third today!" the blonde haired gardener exclaimed as he chewed slowly on his pipe.

Pippin's eyebrows drew together slightly as he thought about the two members of the fellowship, each of whom represented their people. "I wonder why they don't like each other," he wondered, biting his lip in thought.

Sam shrugged, but Merry's eyes brightened as he glanced at his cousin. "We should ask them!" he exclaimed.

"Do you think that they would tell us?" said Pippin rather doubtfully.

The glint that sparked in the curly-headed hobbit's eyes was echoed by the mischievous smirk which crossed his face. "There's only one way to find out, isn't there?" he replied.

---------------

Legolas and Aragorn looked up from their discussion as two small figures approached them, halting some feet away behind a tree. Yet the hobbits came no closer, so man and elf resumed their conversation, only to be interrupted by two voices raised high in argument.

"You should do it."

"Me? Why should I have to do it?"

"You saw him first. He knows you better."

"He was in a tree, Merry!"

A bemused ranger looked at his friend inquiringly, but the elf merely raised his eyebrows, as ignorant as Aragorn as to what the hobbit cousins wanted. When the debate showed no signs of subsiding in the near future, the two continued their discussion, occasionally glancing over at the quarrelling pair half-hidden behind the narrow tree trunk.

Eventually the hobbits emerged from their argument, and, concealed by a group of thick bushes, began to creep closer to the pair who sat on the ground with their legs stretched out before them. With a quick grin at the elf prince by his side, Aragorn looked up as the cousins approached and nodded a greeting. "Master Merry, Master Pippin," he said loudly.

Both hobbits jumped at his words, apparently surprised that they had been seen. Emerging from the bushes sheepishly, they bobbed into half bows, then glanced at each other. From the set expressions on their faces, they seemed to be continuing their previous argument, only this time without words. Aragorn and Legolas waited expectantly but the hobbits remained silent, glaring at each other obstinately.

"What can we do for you, master hobbits?" Aragorn asked finally, breaking the quiet which was so unusual when in the presence of these two particular creatures.

After another lengthy pause, Pippin glared at his cousin, who looked rather smug, then turned to the elf and ranger who were waiting patiently.

"The thing is, we rather wanted to ask Legolas about something," began the young hobbit hesitantly.

"Ask away," said the elf with an amused look at Aragorn.

"Well, you see," said Pippin, his voice louder as he became more confident. "We were just talking with Mister Gimli. The dwarf?" he continued when the elf did not respond.

"We have met," answered Legolas tightly.

Well, as I said, we were talking to him and he said…Why are you shaking your head like that, Strider?"

Legolas' head whipped around to face the ranger who was gazing off into the distance.

"I was not shaking my head," the man replied innocently.

"Yes you were," said Pippin, "Wasn't he, Merry?"

His cousin nodded and Legolas looked suspiciously at the ranger, who was now intently following the flight of a small bird.

"Well, anyway," continued the hobbit, deciding that Strider's odd behaviour was just one more example of the strangeness of the big folk, "Mister Gimli told us that your father captured his father and locked him in a dungeon for ages without any reason."

Aragorn let out a small groan as the elf's jaw tightened visibly.

"The elves of Mirkwood tell the tale rather differently," Legolas replied tersely. "And I think you will find that it was the dwarves who were at fault." He rose to his feet in one fluid movement. "My apologies, but I am needed elsewhere."

The hobbits stared dumbfounded at his swiftly retreating back, then looked nervously at Aragorn, unsure of how they had offended the elf. Seeing their anxious faces, Aragorn swiftly hastened to reassured them. "Do not take offence at his words, master hobbits," he said gently. "Relations between the elves and the dwarves are strained at the best of times. You were not at fault in your words."

The hobbits still looked worriedly after the rapidly disappearing figure as Aragorn climbed to his feet with a grunt. "Let me assure you, before night has fallen you will have an extremely apologetic elf prince seeking your forgiveness for his abrupt behaviour. I advise you to take advantage of it."

The hobbits felt slightly more relieved at these words and they fell into step with the ranger, one on each side, hurrying to keep up with his swift pace. "So Legolas is not angry with us?" Pippin questioned.

"Nay, he is not."

"So what did happen between their fathers?" asked Merry curiously.

"I advise you to seek out Bilbo," the man replied with a smile. "I have the feeling that he will be able to tell you far more accurately than I."

----------------------

From his corner, Boromir of Gondor stared at the sights around him. Although reluctant to admit it, he was impressed by his surroundings. He stood in a great room of Rivendell, the Hall of Fire he had heard it called. Woven banners hung from the ceiling, half-transparent in the flickering light, and tables loaded with many delicacies stood against each of the four walls. In the middle of the hall burnt a fire in a great hearth surrounded by carven pillars, its brilliant flames leaping high into the air to cast dancing shadows over the faces of the gathered crowds. Low couches and tall, elegant chairs were interspersed throughout the room, most occupied by finely clothed figures, many of whom were elves, each blending easily into the gloriously elegant scene. Yet members of other races could also be found scattered throughout the Hall.

Amongst the figures stood a group of dwarves, huddled together in the opposite corner of the room to Boromir. One in particular caught his attention as the firelight glinted off plaits barely distinct amongst the rest of the dwarf's bristling beard. Gimli, son of Gloin's arms were folded stubbornly against his chest as he surveyed the surrounding scene, a frown just visible through the fiery red hair as he stared towards one of the open archways on the left hand side of the room.

The doors which led to the outside balconies were flung wide open, allowing cool air to seep refreshingly into the great hall as the delicate music of the minstrels danced out into the darkness. A group of three elves stood looking out into the quiet night as they conversed merrily between themselves, each clothed in long draping robes. Their hair, both raven and blonde, was bound in nimble plaits interspersed with silver ornaments which, by the way they shone when caught briefly by the flickering flames, looked to be made of mithril. One of the three figures was the prince of Mirkwood, whom Boromir recognised from the council. He had discarded his fawn travelling robe for a green tunic overdressed by a darker mantle, unembroidered, yet elegant in its simplicity. The twin sons of the lord Elrond looked to be fit companions for the elven prince, clothed respectively in robes of maroon and a dark, dusky blue which melted into the night sky.

As Boromir watched, two figures approached the small group of elves. He frowned slightly as he recognised the ranger. But no, Boromir reminded himself, he was looking at the heir to the throne of Gondor, a position long vacant with the city under the guardianship of Boromir's family. A slight crease appeared on the Gondorian's forehead, half-hidden by falling strands of sandy-brown hair, as he pondered the meaning, and the consequences, of the truths revealed at Elrond's council.

However, the son of the steward was abruptly distracted from these disquieting thoughts by the elf maid who walked alongside the man. Dusky raven hair trailed down her back in long waves, flowing gently over a dress of the palest purple. As he watched, the lady of Rivendell, for she could be no other, placed a slender hand on the arm of the ranger, leaning slightly towards him in order to whisper into his ear. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, chuckled, his eyes alight with laughter brought on by the words, or perhaps the mere presence of the lovely maiden, and allowed himself to be guided towards the group containing the prince.

For a second time Boromir was distracted from his musings by a commotion from the entrance to the hall. Stretching to see over the gathered crowds, he caught sight of four curly heads, closer to the floor than most of the others in the room, bobbing slightly as they made their way through the many figures which adorned the scene, intent upon reaching the food-laden tables.

The lithe figure of the prince of Mirkwood detached itself from the small group of elves and ranger. Boromir watched as the prince made his way swiftly towards the hobbits, moving easily through the shifting crowds. He bowed to all four of the shorter figures as he returned their greetings, then took the cousins, Merry and Pippin, aside, and seemed to be speaking to them rather earnestly. Yet the hobbits waved off his words and proceeded to steer the prince in the direction of a surprised Boromir.

Feeling somewhat awkward in the presence of one with whom he had exchanged heated words only a day or so earlier, Boromir squared his shoulders and bowed to the son of Thranduil with as much dignity as he could muster. He was slightly relived when the prince returned the greeting warmly.

"Lord Boromir here explained the archery match you were in the other day," Merry explained cheerfully, and Pippin nodded in agreement.

"You have great skill with a bow, your highness," said Boromir.

The prince bowed his head in thanks. "We are to journey together for many days, Master Boromir, there is no need to rest on formality," the prince replied with a soft smile. "It is Legolas, please."

"Then I must ask you to call me simply Boromir," the man declared, returning the smile. With the hobbits' help, elf and human edged into conversation, the previous day's match leading onto other topics with only a little hesitation. The two warriors barely noticed when the hobbits politely excused themselves and headed once more for the tables.

"It is an unusual crowd tonight, Legolas, is it not?" commented Boromir as he looked around the Hall.

"It is," the prince replied, also surveying the room, yet Boromir could not help but notice the slight frown, almost a grimace, which crossed the prince's face as his eyes travelled rather pointedly over the heads of the party of dwarves. Following his companion's gaze, Boromir realised that the red-bearded dwarf, Gimli, was glaring fixatedly at the prince of Mirkwood, who returned the stare unblinkingly. So fascinated was he by the staring competition which seemed to be developing between the two, that Boromir almost jumped when the prince spoke, though his eyes remained fixed on his opponent.

"Have you thought much about the quest?" he asked calmly.

Boromir looked at the elf, impressed at his ability to maintain his glare whilst conversing with another, and answered with a slightly self-depreciating laugh. "I have thought of little else since the council," he admitted.

Legolas nodded, still staring. "Indeed. I think that the journey shall be trying on us all." The elf paused and an almost imperceptible crease appeared above his dark brows. "To say nothing of the company," he muttered under his breath.

Boromir stared his companion, surprised at such candour, yet easily guessing to what, or rather, to whom, the elf was referring. "I see that you have yet to resolve your dispute from the council with Master Gimli," he said tentatively, unsure of how the elf would react to his words.

"My father once told me that dwarves, particularly those from the Lonely Mountain, were stubborn creatures," Legolas replied distractedly, eyes still fixed on the opposing corner. "I now have reason to believe that he was right."

The reference to Legolas' father and king reminded Boromir of a conversation he had had earlier in the day with the hobbits. "Legolas," he began, but found himself rather disconcerted when the prince did not look at him, instead continuing to stare at the son of Gloin, whose eyes were beginning to look rather strained.

"Yes, Boromir?" the elf asked politely when the man did not continue.

"My apologies, Legolas, but am I to understand that your father and Gimli's have met?"

"They have, briefly," the elf replied. "It was around the time of the Battle of the Five Armies. Yet our realms have not had a great deal of contact since those days."

Boromir nodded slowly, fascinated by the sight of the dwarf's eyes beginning to water furiously, yet the being was still stubbornly refusing to let himself blink. The prince of Mirkwood on the other hand, looked as collected as ever as he gazed coolly at the shorter creature.

Gimli's eyebrows had begun to twitch furiously by this time. Finally, many minutes after the competition had begun, the dwarf blinked, almost too quickly for Boromir to catch. Then his eyes were open again, glaring at the elf, but it was too late. With a triumphant smile, the youngest heir of Thranduil turned away from the son of Gloin. The corners of the elf's mouth continued to twitch slightly as he joined in conversation with the hobbits, who had returned each bearing a platter piled with food.

Looking around, Boromir realised that he had not been the only spectator to the contest between elf and dwarf. Near the balcony, each of the twin sons of Elrond had removed a silver ornament from their dark hair, and was grudgingly handing it to the waiting ranger. Aragorn presented them to the Lady Arwen with a flourish and a triumphant smile strongly reminiscent of that of the son of Thranduil's.

----------------

The next morning dawned on a tranquil Rivendell, whose inhabitants rose late after the celebrations of the previous night. Small groups of elves wandered the grounds as gracefully as ever, yet among the slender figures could be seen four shorter creatures with curly hair and large feet, moving slightly less steadily along the walkways as they stumbled their way to a late breakfast.

Three elves stood together in a high-ceilinged hall watching a short, red-bearded figure march away from them, his footsteps echoing heavily on the marble floor.

"I think that dwarf just insulted you," remarked Elladan to the blonde-haired elf who stood next to him with a slightly stunned expression on his face.

"You are right, brother," chimed Elrohir. "What do you think we should advise our friend to do?"

"Shoot him."

"Aragorn won't let me," the blonde elf muttered.

The brothers looked at each other, amused, and Elrohir clasped a hand on his friend's shoulder in sympathy.

"Come, brother," he said to Elladan. "Let us take the _tithen ernil _to the practice yards. Perhaps he can work out some of his anger whilst being severely defeated by the renowned sons of Elrond. It should not take long."

"You are confident," said Legolas, a glimmer of interest appearing in his blue eyes as he drew his knives and twirled them easily between nimble fingers.

"Nay, I am merely a better fighter than you are."

"We shall see," replied the elf prince lightly, and the three elves moved off towards the practice fields.

----------------------

"Strider! Strider!"

The ranger jumped to his feet, his sword half drawn at the sound of the panicked hobbit voice calling his name frantically.

"Strider!" Frodo dashed into the clearing where the ranger had been nearly asleep, listening with half an ear to his brothers' tirade about how a blonde-haired elven princeling had used a wide range of what they called "sneaky, underhanded tricks" to best them in a number of duels.

"What is wrong, Frodo?" questioned the ranger worriedly.

"It is Legolas!" the hobbit panted. "He and Gimli are fighting!"

The ranger took one look at his brothers, each of whom had a large grin on their face, then ran in the direction from which Frodo had come, the hobbit following close behind. The twins rose lazily to their feet and began to walk after them.

"A dagger that the _tithen ernil_ will win."

"Make it two."

------------------

Strider dashed into the Hall of Fire to find an elf and a dwarf standing face to chest. Near them hovered three scared hobbits, watching the other two whilst making sure to keep well out of reach of the glinting blades in the hands of the first two beings.

"I would think that you would be able to see my point," Legolas was saying. "However," he added, looking disdainfully down at the dwarf, "Maybe you are too short to do so."

"This axe of mine can put us on an equal footing anytime you wish," growled the son of Gloin grimly, hefting the sharply edged weapon in his hands.

"You would have to catch me first," shot back the elf swiftly. "And I fear that such a task would be difficult for one of your…stature."

A few quick strides put Aragorn in between the two adversaries; a dangerous place to be thought the watching Frodo.

"Peace, Legolas, Gimli," the ranger managed through panted breaths, having yet to regain his composure after sprinting from the gardens of Rivendell to the Hall of Fire.

"Stand aside, Aragorn," the elf said tightly, though his clear blue eyes remained on the short figure before him. "This does not concern you."

"It is of my concern if there is bloodshed in my father's house, when such a thing could be avoided with little trouble," the ranger answered firmly, standing firm.

"It is no trouble," replied the elf calmly, fingering his knives. "It will require little effort for me to end this quarrel once and for all."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Gimli blustered angrily. "No pointy-eared son of Thranduil will ever best me in a fight!"

The ranger turned to the dwarf placatingly. "Master Gimli," he entreated. "I am sure that Legolas did not mean for the situation to escalate as far as it has." Out of the corner of his eye, Aragorn saw the elf prince's mouth open as if to protest his words, and he continued hurriedly. "Please, lower your weapon."

"He is good at this," commented Elrohir to Elladan, from where they stood watching at the entrance to the room.

His twin nodded thoughtfully. "He is the leader of the Dunedain, not to mention that he has been negotiating between us for many a year," he replied, eyes flickering over the three figures in the centre of the room. "I suppose that he must have developed some skill in such things."

However, despite the ranger's best efforts, the debate was showing no signs of subsiding.

"I won't put them down until he apologises!" declared the dwarf angrily, setting his feet squarely on the marble floor.

"Then you will be holding that axe for a very long time, _Dwarf_," replied the elf tightly. "And let me assure you, I have far more time in this world than you do."

"What is it that you seek an apology for, Master Gimli?" asked Aragorn as the red-bearded figure emitted a low growl, clutching his blade even tighter. "Whatever it is, I am sure that it can be remedied easily enough," he added, glancing at his elven friend warningly.

"I will not apologise!" came the exclamation.

"Maybe not so good," commented Elrohir, as Elladan stifled his laughter.

Angry shouts were now being emitted from the trio of man, elf and dwarf, and the twins' were amused to see that their little brother was swiftly beginning to lose his calm façade.

"Legolas!" The man's voice was tense. "Let us hear Master Gimli out, at least." Taking a barely perceptible duck of the elf's head as agreement, Aragorn turned to the son of Gloin. "What is it that you seek his apology for?" he questioned.

The dwarf turned on him furiously. "I want that…that…_Elf_…to admit that his father locked mine in a dungeon for no good reason!" Before Aragorn or Legolas had a chance to speak, the dwarf blustered onwards. "And what's more!" he exclaimed, voice rising, "I want an apology for the treatment my father experienced at the hands of those Mirkwood elves!"

"Your father," Legolas hissed, "experienced little, if any, unpleasant treatment at the hands of the elves of Mirkwood, who, may I remind you, were merely defending their realm from dwarven intruders!"

"Intruders?" the dwarf echoed disbelievingly. "Intruders!"

"I believe that you were right the first time," replied Legolas calmly and the dwarf reddened angrily.

"My father was on a…a mission!" the dwarf declared. "Which you elves ruined!"

From where he stood against a wall, Pippin stared at Frodo, surprised by the dwarf's words. "But I thought Bilbo and the dwarves were on a treasure hunt?" he asked, and Frodo nodded.

"They were," he replied softly. "And I think that Legolas knows that."

Indeed, the elf was looking at the dwarf enquiringly. "A mission? My apologies, Master Dwarf, but I was under the impression that this mission of which you speak, was more of a quest for the riches of the dragon Smaug, was it not?" he asked politely.

"And I suppose your treasure-hoarding father told you that, did he?"

"Aye, he did."

"And you believe him!"

"I do. Particularly when his word is compared to that of a dwarf."

"Now wait just one moment!" Gimli bellowed but whatever he was about to say was cut off as Aragorn interrupted him.

"Gentlemen!" The man's tone was final. "That is enough!" He turned a stern gaze on the red-faced dwarf. "Gimli, if you seek an apology on behalf of your father, then it is best that you do so from one who actually wronged you, and _not_ from his son. Legolas-"

His friend met his gaze calmly, but the ranger returned the look with little effort, grey eyes stern in his weathered face.

"_If _you insist on continuing this foolish debate then you will kindly do so in a way which will not injure the body, pride or well-being of _any_ member of the fellowship, and that includes Master Gimli!"

After the initial shock of being told off by a man many years their junior faded, identical frowns formed on the faces of both elf and dwarf. Gimli bowed stiffly to Aragorn, fixed another glare on Legolas, then marched out of the room, still clutching his axe. Indeed, he had yet to release it since his vow not to do so had been made. The hobbits, all of whom looked rather nervous, edged out of the hall in a tight-knit bunch. Their excited voices could be heard long after they disappeared from sight.

Elf and ranger were left standing in the middle of the Hall of Fire. Legolas stared at Aragorn. The man grinned at his friend nervously.

"You will pay for that." The prince's voice echoed ominously through the large room.

"I do not doubt it," the ranger replied, slowly backing away as the elf advanced on him silently. He looked pleadingly at his brothers who had remained in the room, watching the two friends.

"Brothers, will you not aid me?" he asked somewhat desperately, tripping slightly over his own feet as he tried to avoid the approaching elf.

The twins looked at each other.

"I suppose we must," sighed Elladan. "Legolas, we would greatly appreciate it if you refrained from taking his life."

"Aye," agreed Elrohir. "_Adar _will not be pleased if you kill the hope of Men."

Aragorn looked at him disbelievingly. "That is what you consider help?"

The twins shrugged simultaneously.

"You are lucky, son of Arathorn," Legolas declared suddenly. "I will not take my revenge." He smiled innocently at the three brothers. "Yet." The prince turned and strode away, calling to the human to join him. Aragorn did so rather reluctantly.

"I cannot believe that you sided with the dwarf," the twins heard Legolas mutter as he and Aragorn passed them.

"I did not side with him," the man protested.

"You did."

"I did not."

"I realise that he needed the assistance, but even so…"

"I did not side with him."

"You did."

"I did not."

"Did."

The twins grinned at each other as the voices of the two friends faded to silence, lost among the many corridors of Rivendell.

----------------

Late that afternoon, the twins and Arwen moved lightly along the many trails which wandered through the gardens of the Last Homely House. A short figure crossed the path which ran perpendicular to theirs, completely oblivious to the presence of the three firstborn. The twins were amused to see that the dwarf still held his axe clasped tightly between gnarled fingers as he marched away along the gravel path, muttering angrily to himself.

"I will say this for the dwarf," murmured Elrohir, "he is stubborn, to say the least."

TBC

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**_Adar_- father**

**_mellon nin_- my friend**

**_tithen ernil_- princeling**

**(grins nervously) So…what did you think? I've emailed replies to reviews where I could, but thanks also to Heri Tavaril, Briryan, Grumpy, Black as the Shadows, LothirielofGondor, pwrhungryjr, and Lyn, whom I could not reach. If you want a response please remember to leave your email! Thanks so much for reading!**


	6. Hobbit of the Shire

**Disclaimer: Hey ho, to the bottle I go, to heal my wounds and drown my woe… said woe referring to the fact that that I don't own any of these characters or places.**

**(Emerges from under the table) Greetings all and welcome back to In Imladris! Sorry about my rather long absence. Suffice to say that I no longer recommend starting a new job during uni exams and before Christmas- it doesn't work very well. Thank you so so so much to all of you wonderful reviewers by the way. Your kind words really made me get a move on in posting this chapter hehe! Well, now that I've made my excuses etc, enjoy!**

**-----------------**

**Chapter 6: Hobbit of the Shire**

Slender fingers only slighter larger than those of a small child groped almost unconsciously across the loose white shirt which hid the thick layer of bandages covering the shoulder of Frodo Baggins. A pained wince crossed the pale face as yet another twinge of cold stabbed through him, radiating from the deceptively small wound that had been made by the blade of a ringwraith. Yet even as a biting chill crept throughout his body, the thoughts of Frodo Baggins travelled elsewhere.

From where he stood on the large balcony which extended from his room, Frodo was able to see much of the realm of Rivendell spread out below him as it came to light under the rising morning sun. A faintly glowing mist rose from the Fords of the Bruinen as it swirled through the valley, brushing past grey stones and the moss-covered shapes of fallen trees. Here and there in the courtyard below him various shapes whispered, half-hidden by the silver cloud rising from the rolling mass of water. A number of elves were just visible, either alone or in small groups, each floating as gracefully as the mist itself over the hewn walkways and scattered gardens which inhabited the elven valley. Leaning forward slightly, Frodo was also able to make out the blockier figure of a red-bearded dwarf far below him, stomping heavily over a stone path. The son of Gloin seemed to be trying to make as much noise as possible in the otherwise tranquil valley, yet his efforts were to little avail, his footsteps all but muffled by the dampness left by the hovering cloud.

The sound of a second set of footsteps, far lighter than those of the dwarf, alerted Frodo to the presence of someone in the hallway which ran outside his quarters. The dark-haired hobbit's hand fell from his shoulder abruptly and he turned to see a broad, familiar figure entering the room after pausing to knock gently on the elegantly carved door which rested half-open on its hinges.

The sharp eyes of Samwise Gamgee caught the abrupt movement of Frodo's arm as it was jerked quickly down to his side. However, although his forehead was crunched slightly in concern, Sam yet kept his silence as he went to join his friend at the balcony over which the morning sun was just beginning to spill.

"Good morning, Sam," said Frodo quietly, reluctant to disturb the misty morning peace.

"Morning, Mr. Frodo," the gardener replied, taking up a position next to the other hobbit and leaning his arms on the curved railing.

The two remained in silence for some minutes and only the sweetly sung calls of the occasional bird disturbed them as it flew over the tiled rooftops of the Last Homely House. Sam used the time to look over his companion as carefully and surreptitiously as possible, counting himself lucky that the dark-haired hobbit seemed focused on the view before him, thus allowing Sam the best chance to examine his friend and master that he had had in a good while. After many moments Sam heaved a sigh of relief, for Frodo seemed to be healing well. Although he was still a mite paler than usual, the other hobbit seemed nearly returned to his normal self. The only thing which seemed to suggest that all was not quite right, was the slight but frequent twitch of one or other of his hands, as though he sought to press it to his wound, or perhaps, Sam thought darkly, to something else. The hobbit resolved to keep an even closer eye on his friend than he was already, particularly when the time came to leave for Mordor. Sam shuddered as the name passed through his mind. _Mordor_. He had never thought he would have cause to even _mention_ that evil place unless it was in a story of some sort, and now he found himself planning to go there! The gardener allowed himself a soft, resigned sigh before squaring his shoulders, deciding that there was little to be done about such things, for he was determined to go wherever it was that Frodo went.

Unaware of his companion's heavy thoughts, Frodo gestured down into the valley, over the rushing waterfall and beyond. "Look at that, Sam," he said quietly, peacefully.

"I know, Mr. Frodo, it's a wonderful sight to be sure."

Frodo glanced at the other hobbit, who had sounded rather wistful. "Whatever's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong as such," the gardener replied slowly, with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "It kind of makes me miss home, that's all. Seeing Rivendell like this reminds me of an early morning in the Shire, walking up to Bag End to do a bit of weeding under the hedges."

Frodo stared out over the elegantly shaped boughs of the lofty trees and the turmoil of the rushing river. "I'm sorry, Sam," he said carefully, "but I don't really see how Rivendell reminds you of the Shire. They are so far away from each other, and not just in distance."

"Oh, I know that, Mr Frodo," Sam replied hastily. "But even if Rivendell doesn't look like the Shire, its got the same feel if you know what I mean. Sort of…alive. A lot more peaceful, and mysterious like, but still…" He drifted off, unsure of what he himself meant, yet Frodo nodded with a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. He looked at the blonde-haired gardener rather sadly, watching the other hobbit as he stared out over the reaching valley.

"I'm sorry, Sam," he said quietly.

His friend turned to look at him in surprise. "Whatever for, Mr. Frodo?"

"There is no need to pretend, Sam. You know quite well what I mean."

The other hobbit shook his head firmly. "No, I don't, Mr. Frodo. You've done nothing wrong as far as I'm concerned."

"Sam-" began Frodo, but the other hobbit cut over him quickly, his broad face reddening.

"It's too nice a day to be cooped up indoors," he said hurriedly. "What do you say we go take a walk outside?"

Frodo hesitated. Then, just as he was about to refuse the other hobbit's suggestion, he looked into the concerned eyes of his gardener and friend. A smile stole over his face. He picked up his waistcoat which had been slung over the railing next to him and the two turned towards the door.

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The sun had risen fully above the treetops by the time that Frodo and Sam had made their way down to the sweeping gardens of Rivendell. They wandered for some time along the many paths, both natural and elven-made, with no real idea of where they were going, content to simply enjoy the morning and each other's company. Yet at the sound of laughter which was becoming more familiar by the day, they were drawn in the direction of the archery ground and onwards until they came into view of a field of soft dirt with a low fence running around it. Two figures stood in the middle of the seemingly natural arena, one in the dark cloth of the rangers, the other with long blonde hair which seemed even fairer than usual in the morning light. Curious, the hobbits made their way across dew-clung grass until they reached the dirt ring and leaned on the wooden railings which were as elegantly carved as all else in the House of Elrond. Both elf and ranger had drawn their weapons by this time; Strider carrying the sword he had borne on their journey from Bree and the elf prince having shed his quiver for once, holding only two long knives whose bone-white handles shone in the early sunlight.

Frodo and Sam watched as the two combatants began to circle one another, still exchanging occasional words, most of which were insults about the battle skills of the other. Frodo smiled at the sight of the two friends only to let out a sharp gasp as a particularly sharp chill shot through his shoulder. At a movement from his left he realised that Sam was watching him with a concerned expression shadowing his normally cheerful features. Fighting back the cold, Frodo swiftly forced a smile back onto his face and gestured towards the two circling figures with a nod of his head. "Watch carefully, Sam," he said. "This is something that I don't think we'll see again."

The blonde-haired gardener looked rather dubious as he continued to stare at Frodo, who forced himself to concentrate on ignoring the pain. "Oh, I don't know, Mr. Frodo," he replied finally. "I've got a feeling that we'll see plenty of fighting on the quest. That is, maybe not between Mr. Strider and Mr. Legolas, but I'm sure that there'll be many a chance to see them in action."

"I hope not, Sam," Frodo replied. He repeated his words softly as he watched the elf and the ranger circling in the middle of the ring. "I hope not."

The two figures in the dirt yard had stopped exchanging taunts and their expressions had become more focused, eyes fixed on those of their opponent. Frodo was fascinated by the way in which every movement of the two beings had become more concentrated, the elf's lithe grace becoming even smoother and the ranger seeming to grow slightly in stature, his blade becoming part of him, an extension of his body.

Aragorn brought his sword to his forehead briefly, then, almost before Frodo realised what was happening, glinting silver blades had met with a lightning-quick clash of steel. Elf and ranger remained fixed together, their weapons locked as each struggled for control. In this brief pause, Frodo was just able to make out how the elf had used his two knives to his advantage, trapping the ranger's sword between them. Then the two figures had parted, spinning away from each other, feet moving quickly over the soft dirt.

Again they circled, and Frodo could see a small smile developing on the face of the prince of Mirkwood. A white knife twisted in his left hand and the right echoed the action. The elf seemed to be intentionally baiting the ranger, and indeed, it seemed to be working.

Aragorn made a sharp flourish with his sword which the elf swiftly blocked, returning the blow in kind as he aimed his knives directly at the ranger's head. Frodo and Sam gasped simultaneously for it seemed as though the blades would sheathe themselves in the head of the heir to the throne of Gondor. Yet the ranger ducked at what seemed to be the last possible moment and the honed edge of the knife's blade moved smoothly over his dark head. Without pausing, Aragorn swept his sword around until it neared the elf's left side, forcing Legolas to shift in order to avoid it, then his right hand released its grip on the weapon. Bringing his fist up sharply, the ranger caught the elf a hard blow on the jaw, throwing him off balance. Swiftly regaining his composure, the light being easily managed to find his footing, yet a small frown had replaced his smile.

The side of the ranger's mouth, on the contrary, had quirked upwards slightly. "Do you surrender?"

Legolas merely narrowed his eyes before making a swift uppercut with the blade in his right hand, forcing the ranger to jump to the side to avoid it. "Would you?"

The ranger nodded his head briefly in acknowledgement of the prince's response before once more raising his weapon before him in salute. Again he brought his sword about and the fierce duel began once more.

From where he stood, Frodo watched the battling warriors before him with fascination. Never had he seen anything like this, hobbits being folk who rarely, if ever, took up a proper weapon during their lifetime. Next to him, Sam too stared open-mouthed as knives and sword met once more before they slid off of each other with a smooth rattle. This time the fierce duel between the two took the form of a well rehearsed dance, each being moving in time with the other, anticipating a move before it was made. Showers of dirt were kicked up from underneath the ranger's heavy boots, yet strangely the elf made barely a footprint to show that he had passed at all, much less fought there.

Frodo became aware that Sam had a slight frown on his face as he watched the two warriors. The other hobbit was squinting slightly, his gaze focused on Strider.

"What is it, Sam?"

The other hobbit started and immediately refocused his gaze on Frodo, as though fearful that something had happened to him in his brief moment of inattention. "Pardon, Mr. Frodo?" he asked anxiously.

"You seem puzzled, that's all."

"It's nothing really," muttered Sam, his eyes drifting back to the elf and ranger still moving swiftly over the dirt. "It's just that Strider is moving all wrong."

Immediately Frodo looked to the man who had brought them through many dangers, without whom he knew they would likely not have survived that night at the Prancing Pony. "What do you mean?" he asked anxiously. "Do you think he's injured?"

"Oh, no, Mr. Frodo, nothing like that. What I meant was, he seems to be fighting differently to how he fought against those foul creatures on the hill."

Frodo tore his glance away from the dancing figures to look at his gardener properly. "Whatever do you mean, Sam?" he asked, curious as to what the other hobbit was getting at.

"Well, I can't quite put my finger on it. But when Mr. Strider fought those things that night, he moved differently, heavier like. Now he's fighting more like Mr. Legolas, like a great big cat, if you get my meaning. All smooth and graceful."

Frodo frowned, somewhat puzzled. "I'm afraid I don't know quite what you mean," he admitted, and Sam shook his head.

"It's probably just me, Mr. Frodo. To tell you the truth, I can't really remember much of that night."

"Nor can I, Sam."

The two hobbits settled down once again to watch the fight which showed little sign of abating despite the slight sheen of sweat which was just visible on the human's face. Legolas seemed to have gained the upper hand in the current bout and was forcing the ranger backwards with a series of lightning swift blows, his two daggers little more than flashes of silver.

Aragorn was almost at the edge of the ring when his fighting style altered almost completely from one second to the next. Instead of the graceful arcs he had been sweeping through the air with his sword only seconds previous, he began to make short, sharp thrusts, parrying each blow of the elf's knives with enough force to jar them in the elf's grip. Frodo immediately realised what Sam had been talking about. Strider had previously been mirroring the elf's fighting style, taking quick steps, relying on a nimbleness and speed which the elf could easily match and surpass. Now however, the man was using heavier blows, ones that required more effort but also had more effect against his lithe opponent.

Although both figures were fighting as hard as ever, the pace of the furious battle had slowed and it was now Legolas who was being pushed back. Taking advantage of a second's relief as the elf danced lightly out of reach, Strider brought his sword above his head only to bring it raining down in a series of thundering blows which crashed harshly against the white knives. One particularly fierce blow caught the knife in the prince's right hand at an awkward angle, knocking it out of the elf's grasp. In a swift movement the ranger changed his grip on his sword, almost reversing it so that the blunt pommel struck the elf a solid blow on the chest. Legolas staggered back a pace and the man pressed his advantage, using his greater weight to bear the elf back. Again their blades became trapped against each other, but this time the elf had only one short blade with which to defend himself against the man's heavier and longer broadsword. Attempting to shift to the side to throw off the man's weight and use it against him, Legolas found himself at the edge of Aragorn's blade, the glinting steel echoing the expression in the man's hard grey eyes.

Frodo watched in fascination, unsure of how the proud elven prince would react to his defeat.

"You have improved," Legolas commented flatly, staring at the ranger yet refusing to take even a step back despite the sharp blade that was pressing against his neck.

"I try," the man replied, just as evenly.

"I have not seen you use that move before." Again, the prince's voice was flat. Frodo began to feel a little concerned for the ranger, for Legolas had shown no sign of humour since the duel had ended.

"It has been a long time since we fought," the man replied, finally lowering his sword. "Either with or against each other."

The elf nodded slightly. "True enough." He turned and began to walk out of the ring, picking up his fallen blade in one swift motion. The two hobbits glanced at each other and immediately backed away from where they stood by the gate, wary of being too near to the elven prince whilst he was in this mood, a side of him that they had not seen before. Glancing over at Strider, Frodo saw a flicker of some emotion cross his face, then the man was moving quickly after the silent elf.

"Legolas."

The elf prince halted nearly halfway across the dirt arena. "What?" His voice was hard. The hobbits inched another few steps away from the warrior.

"Is it not customary at the end of a duel to congratulate the victor?" the man asked innocently, leaning forward on his sword which was balanced on its point against the ground.

"You push your luck, _human_," the elf growled with a dark scowl.

"Come, _mellon nin_, do not be discomfited. After all, you were only defeated by a mere mortal…one _many_ years your junior…and whom you helped train…" The man grinned gleefully at the glaring elf.

"It was not a defeat."

"No?" Aragorn's tone was mocking. "Then pray tell, O Prince of Mirkwood, what was it?"

"A slight reprieve before I humiliate you with a crushing victory in our next duel."

"A reprieve," the man repeated. "Of course. How foolish of me not to have realised."

The elf gave a short nod. "Indeed. Yet I shall forgive you your transgression."

"You are gracious beyond words, O Prince. And foolish beyond them as well."

Legolas spun and stalked away from the ranger, yet Aragorn remained close on his heels as he strode towards the gate.

"You shall have to teach me that trick," Legolas muttered without turning around, "for my pride shall not stand another de-" His voice halted abruptly. "Another reprieve such as that," he continued more carefully.

Aragorn's smile grew even broader. "I am surprised that it has lasted as well as it has," he returned, "Considering how many times I have bested you."

Legolas fixed a disbelieving stare on the gleefully grinning ranger then simply shook his head with a resigned sigh. "Of course," he said, glancing at Strider, "You realise that had I my bow, I would simply have shot you with an arrow before you and your illustrious sword had even reached me."

"I do not doubt it."

"Nor should you, for it is the truth."

The ranger paused and seemed to be considering the elf's words. "Of course," he reflected thoughtfully, "Such a method could well be seen as the coward's way out."

Frodo cringed.

Legolas eyed the ranger almost curiously, his head cocked slightly to one side. Out of the corner of his eye, Frodo noticed pale fingers shifting restlessly on a bone-white handle. Clearly the ranger had noticed as well, for Aragorn's smirk faded and he began to walk swiftly towards the gate, keeping his sharp grey eyes pinioned on the elf as though wary of his friend's intentions.

"My apologies, _mellon nin_," he murmured, "But I have just remembered that my brothers asked me to dine with them. I would not wish to be late, so if you will excuse me…" His long strides quickened.

"Your brothers left before dawn on a scouting mission, Estel."

The ranger came to an abrupt halt. Frodo was sure that he saw Strider's throat shift nervously.

"Did they?"

"They did."

"Ah."

"Indeed."

"Then I suppose that I will not be joining them."

"It would be hard to do so with a knife embedded in your back."

"I do not have a knife embedded in my back."

"Not yet."

Frodo looked at Sam who returned the glance nervously, a rather frightened expression on his face. He smiled at the other hobbit and Sam's tense face relaxed slightly, heartened by his friend's reassurance.

Turning away from his friend, Frodo looked again to the two figures near the edge of the ring and felt a quick flash of nervousness go through him. He did not _think _that the elf prince would harm Aragorn, at least not seriously, yet the elf had a steely glint in his eyes and a determined set to his mouth. With the addition of the knives currently being brandished at the ranger, it all combined to form the very picture of a proud, dangerous and annoyed elven warrior. Frodo felt his own throat shift unsteadily.

Aragorn seemed to have given up reasoning with the elf and was now moving swiftly back towards the gate, making sure to keep his chest towards the elf prince. Yet before he had gone many steps he halted and stared at the advancing elf. "Why am I the one who is retreating? I was the victor in our duel and thus I can simply defeat you again if the need arises."

"Are you willing to risk it?" Legolas asked, his blue eyes threatening.

The man nodded calmly, an answering challenge in his eyes. "I am."

"Then you are far braver than your esteemed brothers, for they declined my invitation to a rematch after their defeat yesterday." Legolas shook his head and uttered a rather rueful laugh. "I must ask you, however, not to tell the twins of our battle, for I fear that I would not live it down for many a year."

"Nay, you would not." Aragorn smirked.

Legolas looked at the man carefully. "You wouldn't."

"Let me assure you that I would."

A new voice cut into the conversation. "There is no need to concern yourself, Estel. We need no other to tell us of what occurred here today, for we bore witness to it ourselves."

Frodo and Sam turned as one and saw the twin sons of Elrond striding gracefully across the field which bordered the practice yards. Behind them from the direction of Legolas and Aragorn, they heard a soft groan and a much louder chuckle. Moving towards the light rail fence, the twins both greeted Frodo and Sam, then, as one came to stand next to the hobbits, the other leapt lightly over the gate, not bothering to open it. With light, firm steps, the seemingly youthful elf lord crossed to where the blonde prince and dark-haired ranger waited.

"Your highness."

"_Lord _Elladan," Legolas responded with a slight bow, placing unnecessary emphasis on the first word.

"I thought that you and Elrohir were out scouting," said Aragorn, casting a suspicious glance at the innocent-eyed prince of Mirkwood.

"We returned not an hour ago. Did Legolas not tell you?"

Aragorn swung round to face his friend. "You told me that they were out hunting," he accused.

Legolas shrugged. "Nay, I told you that they had _left_ to go hunting. I merely omitted the fact that they had returned."

Elladan laughed at his human brother's frustrated scowl, then turned to Legolas with a mischievous smile. "You are right, _mellon nin_."

"There is nothing unusual about that," the prince replied easily. He paused, then glanced at the other elf, raising a dark eyebrow. "About what, precisely?"

"You will not live this particular battle down for many a year." Grinning at the dark look that was directed his way, the eldest son of Elrond glanced over at Aragorn curiously. "I must ask you, Estel, how is it that you managed to best the _tithen ernil_?"

A gleam of laughter appeared in Aragorn's eyes as he recalled his victory. "It was not difficult," he replied airily.

Legolas uttered a most un-elf like snort. "What he means, Elladan, is that he used a number of sneaky, underhanded tricks."

Aragorn rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin. "I seem to recall that the twins used those very words to describe your victory over them yesterday," he remarked, a wolfish grin creeping onto his face.

"That victory was completely just!"

"You tripped me!" protested Elladan.

"Nay, you fell over my leg, there is a difference!"

Over by the fence, Frodo and Sam watched in astonishment as the two elf lords began to argue much as Merry and Pippin did on a regular basis. When the debate showed no sign of subsiding, Frodo looked up at the elf lord next to him, whose dark hair was shifting lightly in the morning wind.

"Lord Elrohir?"

The raven-haired elf lord turned to Frodo, an amused smile on his face from watching his friend and brother. "Yes, Frodo?"

"When we were watching Aragorn and Legolas fight, Aragorn seemed to change somehow. In the way in which he fought, I mean."

Elrohir looked more carefully at the figure next to him who was only half his size. "That is an acute observation, master hobbit."

Frodo shook his head and gestured towards Sam. "It was not I, but Sam here who noticed."

"I see." Elrohir looked at the blushing gardener appraisingly.

The soft tread of footsteps against the dirt which layered the ground alerted them to another's presence as Aragorn, having left the two lords of Imladris and Mirkwood arguing between themselves, came to a halt near the small group.

"Frodo, Sam," he greeted them. "Elrohir."

The elf who had been his brother for as long as he could remember nodded back at him with a smile in his eyes. "Perhaps you would be kind enough to answer a question which has been put to me by these admirable hobbits before us, Estel. "

The ranger nodded. "Of course."

"They wish to know why you are able to fight in the style of the elves yet are willing to sink so low as to fight like the Dunedain."

Aragorn fixed a rather insulted eye on the elf lord who shrugged innocently. "It was their wording, not mine."

"I am afraid that I do not believe you in that regard, brother," the man replied offhandedly.

Elrohir shrugged. "That is well, for my words are not the truth."

Without further comment Strider turned to the hobbits, who were once again exchanging a puzzled glance over the unexpected, not to mention strange, behaviour of the big folk before them. "I told you some days ago that I was raised here in Rivendell among the elves, did I not?" he enquired.

The two hobbits nodded their confirmation.

"They taught me to fight," he continued simply, "as well as many other things."

"Like what?" questioned Sam, his curiosity overriding his nervousness.

Aragorn shrugged. "Language, healing, archery..."

"Yet it was not until I took a hand in your training that you were actually able to hit your target," remarked another voice lightly. It was the prince of Mirkwood who had spoken, he and Elladan having approached the small group silently, their feet making no sound in the deep dirt.

The ranger waved aside his words. "That is besides the point," he claimed. "After living for some years here in Rivendell, I joined the rangers and they educated me in their own methods of fighting and such." He shrugged. "Thus I can fight with either style, or with both if I choose it."

"But Mr. Legolas is an elf!" Sam protested. A brief second later a shocked expression came to his broad face as he realised that he had spoken out loud and that his words could well be taken as offensive. However, the three elves and the ranger did not seem angry but were rather looking at him enquiringly. He reddened furiously. "What I meant was, not to be rude or anything, but how did you beat Mr. Legolas, him being an elf and you being…"

"Human?" the man finished with a smile. "It was skill, pure and simple."

Legolas rolled his eyes as Frodo spoke up. "I thought that elves were stronger and faster than humans though?" questioned the hobbit.

Elrohir nodded. "It is true. The firstborn are gifted with speed, and strength above the race of Man," he replied.

"Aye," continued Legolas, "Yet if a human uses a variety of sneaky, underhanded tricks whilst an elf fights fairly, they are more easily matched and the possibility arises that said elf may be caught off guard…"

"And thus soundly defeated," finished Aragorn with a grin.

"It was not a defeat," objected the elf with more than a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"You are right," reflected the ranger thoughtfully. "It was more of a thrashing."

Legolas snorted.

"A trouncing?"

The prince nodded to the hobbits politely, then turned and stalked away with the ranger once more fast on his heels.

"A rout? A vanquishing?"

The hobbits stared at their retreating backs as Elladan and Elrohir exchanged grins.

"You must excuse my brother and the _tithen pen_," said the elder twin with a regretful sigh. "When they spend even a small amount of time in each other's company, they tend to lose what little sense they had in the first place."

"It should be an interesting journey to Mordor," reflected Elrohir, turning his gaze on the two hobbits who shifted nervously under his intense grey eyes. "I offer you my apologies for their behaviour in advance."

Frodo and Sam glanced at each other, unsure of what reply to make to such a statement, particularly when it came from a son of the lord Elrond.

"Do not worry," Elladan continued more softly, his eyes following the two tall figures of the elf and ranger. "Those two will not fail you, even at the cost of their own lives."

Sam relaxed slightly, reassured by the elf lord's words. Frodo nodded shortly and the four turned to follow the retreating figures as they made their way back to the main house. Yet Frodo's thoughts were dark even as he listened to the twins jesting lightly with Sam. The words of Elladan rang in his mind. _Those two will not fail you, even at the cost of their own lives_. His stomach tightened as he thought of what was to come. He pressed his hand to his chest, searching for the small bump which was the One Ring. A soft, relieved sigh escaped him as he found it and a twinge of cold shot through his shoulder once more.

TBC

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**(hides under table again nervously) I think I like it under here. It's a nice place to hide from potentially disgruntled readers who didn't like my first attempt at a fight (or its result, hehe!)**

**Next chapter should be up far quicker than this one was and for those of you interested, I also have another story along the lines of 'snowballs' nearly finished. Please review if you have a moment, I'd love to know whether you liked this chapter. Replies have been sent where I could, so if you want one, please log in or leave your email. Thanks also to Ainu Laire, grumpy, fiona, arlad and memyselfandi whom I could not reach. As always, thanks for reading!**


	7. A Prince Among Elves

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the men, elves, hobbits, humans or Homely Houses in this story. They're Tolkien's. **

**Here's the new chapter everyone! Thank you soooo much for all your lovely reviews, I treasure each and every one of them. Review responses should be done by tonight (or possibly by morning for those of you who do not live down under in Australia!) Enjoy the new chapter!**

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Chapter 7: A Prince Among Elves

Dusk had fallen over Imladris as the Chieftain of the Dunedain and the youngest prince of Mirkwood walked at their ease along one of the many halls which wandered through the Last Homely House. Soft shadows played gently in their wake, leaping and dancing along the walls like playful spirits as the dark forms of the two friends fleetingly blocked the soft glow of the many candles scattered high along the corridors.

The two figures were of almost exactly the same height, yet that was where the similarities between them ended. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, was the darker of the two, his brown, almost black locks falling nearly to his shoulders, framing a weathered face with silver-grey eyes. A slight beard and broader shoulders marked him as of the race of Man, yet there was a nobility to his features which reminded one of the ancient kings of Numenor, descended first from Elros, whose stone images had watched over the River Anduin for centuries. For once, he had shed his usual travel-stained garb, and had instead donned a dark grey tunic reminiscent of the robes worn by the elves of Imladris.

Next to him walked Legolas Thranduilion, prince of Mirkwood. Of far slighter build than his human companion, he was clothed in the greens and browns of his woodland home. He had discarded the bow and quiver which usually rested upon his back, ready for use, yet even deep within the sanctuary of Imladris the prince did not go unarmed, carrying a simple dagger by his left hip. Blonde hair glinted in the flickering flames of the candles, yet light also seemed to come from his very being, a dim glow which revealed him as an elf, one of the Firstborn who had inhabited Middle Earth for countless ages.

The pair did not speak, not even when they reached a small antechamber out of which branched several other passages. Without a word, stumble or gesture, they moved together, the elf prince instinctively lengthening his stride so that the two remained side by side as they turned down a corridor lined with woven tapestries. Years upon years of fighting together, hunting, and simply enjoying the other's company had given each an almost instinctive knowledge of the other's next movement, whether it was in battle or an occasion such as this, a simple walk through a childhood home.

The rough voice of the man broke the gentle quiet of the evening. "Why?"

The elf turned to look at his companion, head cocked curiously to one side.

"Did you expect something different of me?" he inquired.

"Nay."

"Then what point is there in asking why?"

"Legolas…"

"Aragorn…" The elf's voice carried almost exactly the same inflection as the human's, yet the man shook his head abruptly.

"There is nothing humorous about this, Legolas. I must know. Why did you do that?"

The prince of Mirkwood remained quiet for a moment as he considered his companion's question. "Out of fear of your brothers?"

Silence was the only response.

"Estel, you well know that my life would have been at serious risk from them had I not…offered my services."

The human simply stared ahead stonily.

"Out of fear of Arwen?" Legolas tried hopefully.

Despite himself, the ranger could not help but give a short bark of laughter. "That I can better understand, _mellon nin_, yet it is not yet the truth."

The elf drew himself up proudly, his eyes darkened by a gleam of arrogance. "You dare accuse a prince of Mirkwood of lying?" he demanded.

"Nay," the man replied easily, unmoved by his companion's displeasure. "Only of omitting the entire truth."

The prince's face relaxed back into its usual serene calm. "That is well then."

The two friends entered the Hall of Fire, in which the great hearth still burned bright despite the lateness of the hour. Here and there throughout the area, the occasional elf could still be seen as an ethereal form gliding lightly over the smooth stone floor. Nodding a greeting to those they passed, elf and ranger moved past several solitary figures in silence, needing no words to ease the quiet between them. However, as they exited the great hall for another long passage, the man interrupted the dusky peace once more.

"Why?"

"I believe you already asked me that."

"Aye, I did, but you did not answer."

"I was hoping that you had forgotten that part of it."

"I did not. Why?"

Legolas shrugged dismissively. "It is necessary for there to be a representative of the elves in the fellowship, and I know that my father would wish it so." A pained look crept onto his face. "Yet somehow I do not think that _Adar_ will be pleased that it is I who is that representative."

Aragorn shook his head in grave consideration of his friend's plight. "Nay, _mellon nin_, he will not," he concurred, unable to bring himself to provide false comfort when they both knew there was none to be had. "Journeying to Mordor may well be less dangerous than confronting your father when he finds out."

"Particularly if he discovers that I am doing so with a dwarf," murmured Legolas. "Who is the son of Gloin, no less."

Aragorn could not hold back a chuckle even as the elf's expression darkened, his young yet somehow ageless face becoming marred by a small frown. Noticing the change in the other's demeanour almost immediately, the man turned to face his companion more fully, concern written in his silver-grey eyes.

"What troubles you, Legolas?" he urged softly, sensing that all was not right with his friend.

"It is nothing," replied the elf shortly and he lengthened his stride so that the man fell slightly behind him.

Startled by the abrupt answer, Aragorn hastened his pace and caught the elf's sleeve with the tips of his fingers, pulling the lithe creature to a halt with a short tug. Moving round until he stood face to face with his companion, he met the other's eyes searchingly. The two stood there in silence, the elf seeming to glow slightly in the dark hall, the ranger a darker, more solid shape in the night. "You warned me only minutes ago of accusing a prince of the elves of lying," the man reminded his friend softly. "Yet you make it difficult for me not to do so."

Legolas stared at the ranger, his blue eyes turned silver under the dimmed stars whose light had crept in through an open window. With a sudden chill, Aragorn became aware, whilst certainly not for the first time, that the elf whose friendship he had treasured nearly all of his life was far older than his youthful looks suggested. The prince of Mirkwood had lived through the turn of countless centuries, had fought against the forces of Sauron under the dark eaves of his home, had watched the stars perform their graceful dance in the night sky as the years came and went. As he looked at the glowing features of the ethereal being before him, Aragorn felt the magic of the elves, as Samwise Gamgee would call it, surround him for the first time in many seasons.

"I still cannot believe that you sided with the dwarf."

For a few moments more Aragorn stared at his friend, then mirth choked up inside of him and he laughed out loud, the rare sound ringing out into the night and breaking the gentle quiet which had enveloped the valley. Legolas stared at him, his expression somewhat less than amused, which only caused the man to laugh harder. Finally as the sound faded, lost amongst the many trees, the man turned to his friend, the smile upon his face easing the weathered creases already gathered there. "Thank you, _mellon nin_."

"For what?" the elf questioned, one dark eyebrow raised as he gazed at his human friend inquiringly, irritation forgotten as quickly as it had arrived.

"For keeping me young," Aragorn replied simply.

Legolas looked at his friend carefully, perhaps seeing, and understanding, far more than he let show. Finally he spoke. "You _are_ young, human," he replied loftily as he strode away. A muffled snort of laughter was all that came from the ranger as he again hastened to catch up with his friend.

"Legolas?"

"Aye?"

"May I ask you something?"

"I believe that you just did."

"Very well then, may I ask you something else?

"Again, I believe that you just did."

"You realise that you are not helping."

"I am not trying to."

Aragorn glared at his friend yet the elf returned the stare easily, blue eyes looking serenely at the frustrated ranger.

"Do you take pleasure in driving me to the edge of madness?" the man inquired, his tone teetering on the very borders of civility.

"Only the edge?" The archer sounded rather disappointed. "I must try harder."

"I thought that you were not trying?" Aragorn countered, a hint of triumph in his voice.

"I am not trying to help _you_," Legolas corrected smoothly.

Aragorn looked briefly in the direction of the dark, clouded heavens as though asking for the patience to withstand the company of the elven prince. "If you have quite finished?" he asked.

"I have not," was the serene reply.

Aragorn growled low in his throat as the two friends emerged from the central wing of the Last Homely House and continued their path on one of the covered walkways which overlooked the River Bruinen. A light misting rain had begun to fall, coating the trees and dwellings of Imladris with a silvery sheen as the two moved slowly along the stone paving.

"You will beat me." This time it was the elf's melodious voice which echoed into the damp evening air.

"Hmm?"

"You will become king whilst I remain a mere prince."

"I am not king yet. It is doubtful that it will ever come to pass."

"It will."

"You know this?"

"I do." The elf nodded firmly as though there was not a doubt in his mind that his words would come true.

"I did not know that you were gifted with foresight."

"It does not take foresight to know that you are destined for things that other men could never achieve."

"Aye," Aragorn replied with a harsh, almost mocking, laugh. "Not all men are fortunate enough to be born heir to the throne of Gondor."

Legolas however, shook his head. "You misunderstand me, Estel," he said quietly. "I meant that few men have the courage, determination and pure stubbornness to accomplish the deeds which you are destined for, which you have already done."

"You flatter me," the man replied sardonically.

"I speak the truth, that is all. And," the elf added, casting a warning glance at the human beside him, "you cannot deny my words for, as we have already established, a son of Thranduil does not lie."

The ranger snorted softly. "Even if that is the case and your words do come to pass-"

"They will."

"-you still will have been a prince for far longer than I am king."

The elf prince nodded thoughtfully. A mischievous glint lit his eyes, bright in the evening dark. "Does that mean that I can order you about?"

"Nay, it does not."

"Please?"

"No."

"But I outrank you, you admitted so yourself!"

"I did no such thing."

"You did."

"Did not."

"Did."

"Did not." The man glanced sideways at his companion. "Leggy."

The elf halted abruptly, reaching out a slender hand to jerk the ranger to a stop beside him. "Do not call me that," he stated, blue eyes boring into the grey ones currently smirking at him.

Aragorn grinned at him. "But _mellon nin_," he protested, "I am sure that the hobbits would delight in hearing of it." The elf's glare only deepened, as did the man's mischievous smile as he glanced at his companion. "Not to mention Master Gimli," he added casually.

Without warning Legolas spun around and, grabbing a clenched fistful of the ranger's tunic, pulled the laughing man towards him until their faces were mere inches apart. "This I swear, Estel," he hissed ominously. "If you breath even a _word_ of that name which you so thoughtfully bestowed on me to _any_ creature, be it Hobbit, Man and _particularly_ Dwarf, I will-"

"Ah, but you cannot kill me," interrupted Aragorn triumphantly, reaching up to pluck his shirt out of the elf's fingers and taking a smooth step back from the furious being. "For otherwise your prediction that I will become king will not have much chance of coming to pass."

"You did not let me finish," replied the prince softly. A dangerous look had come into his eyes, melding with the anger there, and Aragorn grew slightly nervous, recognising it as the look which so many orcs saw shortly before they met their end at the tip of two very sharp knives. "I was going to say," Legolas continued, "that if you did such a thing then I would reveal to the hobbits that you do not like mushrooms."

"You wou-" The man paused mid-word and looked at his friend whose face had developed a decidedly evil grin. "You would," he muttered resignedly, shoulders slumping.

The elf nodded happily, the last traces of anger having left his eyes as he savoured his victory. "I would indeed. And I would take great pleasure in doing so. In truth," he added after a moment's consideration, "I may do so anyway."

"Why?"

"I told you, because my father would wish-"

"Nay," the man interrupted. "I meant why would you be so cruel as to tell the hobbits? Do you not realise how long and hard I have laboured to conceal the truth from them thus far?"

The elf smirked. "I do realise."

"Then how could you even consider such a thing?" Aragorn asked, a hint of incredulity in his voice.

Legolas glanced at him disbelievingly. "Surely you must know."

The man looked at him blankly.

"You mean to say that you cannot recall a single reason why I would wish to subject you to the consequences of such a revelation, terrible as they may be?"

About to shake his head, the ranger's eyes widened suddenly as comprehension dawned. "Our fight!"

It was Legolas' turn to stare at his companion in bewilderment. "Pardon?"

"This morning, when I defeated you!"

"You did not defeat me," the elf interrupted sharply, yet the man continued on without pausing.

"I realise that you must have been embarrassed with your defeat, particularly as it occurred in full view of Frodo and Sam…and the twins…yet surely there is no need to go to such lengths to avenge yourself."

"Aragorn, you pushed me into the lake."

"Even if it was humili…I what?"

Legolas growled under his breath, considering seriously whether it would be impolite to wake the hobbits immediately in order that he could tell them about his friend's distaste for their favourite food at that very moment. "You pushed me into the lake," he repeated abruptly.

"Ah, yes." A fond smile came to the ranger's lips as he remembered the amusing sight of his elven friend, usually so unflappable, emerging dripping wet and furious from the deepest lake in Imladris. Noticing the man's grin, Legolas gave him a hard shove which sent him off balance and into a passing column. Yet his friend easily righted himself, still grinning, and continued along as though nothing had happened.

"You _will_ pay for pushing me into the lake," Legolas stated, without looking at the man beside him.

"Of course I will."

"And for the dirty trick you used this morning during our duel."

"I do not doubt it."

"And for siding with the dwarf."

"For the last time, Legolas, I did no such thing!"

The elf ignored him, merely casting him what the man thought to be a rather unnerving look. "Keep your eyes open, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. For you never know from where, or when, an attack will come."

Aragorn glanced at the glowing elf uneasily and was not reassured to see a satisfied smile forming on the pale face. The ranger forced himself to look away from his friend, yet was unable to restrain himself from sending the occasional nervous glance in the prince's direction as they emerged into a open courtyard. As the rain fell lightly upon their hair and clothes, dusting them with silvery drops, he furiously sought a new subject of conversation in an attempt to distract the elf from formulating his revenge. Although he might not be able to prevent it, he reasoned, he may at least be able to delay it. However, when nothing came immediately to mind that would serve as a distraction, he resorted to a tried and true method.

"Why?"

"Do you not tire of asking me that?" the elf asked, brushing a damp strand of hair out of his eyes.

"Do you not tire of being asked?" Aragorn rejoined, grateful that the elf's attention had been diverted for the time being.

"I am beginning to."

"Then I will cease asking you when I am satisfied with the answer, but until that time, _mellon nin, _I am afraid that you will have to put up with it. Why?"

"The Ring must be destroyed. You know this."

"And you think it is your responsibility to see such a deed carried out?"

"You do." Feeling the man next to him still suddenly, Legolas halted and turned to his friend. "Nay, Estel, do not try to protest it," he said evenly. "You believe that it is your responsibility because your ancestors were the ones who failed in the task."

"I go to help Frodo," answered Aragorn, the smallest touch of defensiveness sharpening his tone. "He will need help if he is to achieve this task he has undertaken and I would not see any face such trials alone, let alone a hobbit who has barely strayed from the Shire."

Legolas nodded. "I do not dispute that you wish to help Frodo, _mellon nin, _for that is largely why I go myself. Even if he has the strength to withstand the pull of the Ring, he will need others, warriors, to protect him from more…substantial dangers. Yet why do you refuse to acknowledge that you feel guilty for the choices made by Isildur?"

Looking into the elf's determined gaze, Aragorn realised that the elf would not be dissuaded from gaining an answer that evening. "I am of his blood, Legolas," he stated heavily, resignedly. "I am the last of that line. And as such the deeds that he failed to accomplish fall to me."

"Why?"

"I thought that I was the one asking that question," the man jested, half in an attempt to distract his friend, yet Legolas shook his head sternly.

"His actions were not yours, Aragorn."

"Nay," the man replied simply. "They were not. Yet as a crown is passed from head to head, so are the responsibilities that go with it. You are the son of a king, Legolas, you know this."

The elf stared at him and the man stared back, neither willing to back down from this fight.

Finally Legolas looked away. "You are too stubborn for your own good, human."

Aragorn chuckled, yet his expression sobered swiftly. "Why?" he demanded once more, determined to receive an answer from the evasive elf.

"I believe that I have already answered that question."

"Nay, you merely sidestepped it with a response that you hoped would both satisfy and distract me."

"Did it?" The elf's tone was hopeful yet the man's grave, level stare was enough of an answer. The prince's voice was quiet when he finally responded. "I would follow you into Mordor, Estel."

"I know," the man replied shortly, not looking at the elf beside him. "And that is what concerns me. I do not wish for you to risk your life needlessly."

"You think the quest pointless?"

"That is not what I meant, Legolas, as you well know, " the man answered, a bite of anger coming into his voice. When the elf did not answer, Aragorn sighed heavily. "It is a long walk to Mordor, _mellon nin_."

"I know," Legolas replied lightly. "Indeed, I have already informed Elrohir of that fact."

"This is not a jest, Legolas!" Aragorn burst out, surprising even himself with his heated tone. He forced himself to speak slowly, calmly. "It will not be an easy journey. There is danger beyond these borders, and not just from Sauron. Even on the road from Bree-"

"Even on the road from Bree you managed to get yourself into a situation from which only the Valar knows how you managed to emerge alive!" Legolas shot back. "You confronted _five of_ _the_ _Nazgul_, Aragorn, by yourself, and it was only by the sheer stubborn luck that you seem to live by that you are here to have this conversation with me!"

"I am well able to take care of myself," the man growled. "I do not need an elven prince watching over my every move!"

"I am aware that you can survive on your own," Legolas replied coolly. "You have proven so many a time over the years that we have known each other. I simply thought that you might have appreciated a familiar presence on the quest. Yet if, as it seems, that is not the case, perhaps I should return home to Mirkwood."

"Perhaps you would do better there," the man cut in, "than being part of a near futile attempt to restore a lost king to a throne that he does not want!"

Legolas stilled abruptly. His bright blue eyes were bitingly cold as he stared at the ranger, who found himself fighting not to recoil under the incensed gaze. "Is that what you believe?" the prince asked dangerously, taking a step towards the ranger, who retreated almost unconsciously. "That I go to protect the heir of Isildur? That I go out of a duty to some lost king? Valar, Estel! Does our friendship mean that little to you?" When the man remained silent, Legolas turned away, his voice hardening to granite. "If I had wished only to protect the heir of Gondor during these past decades, I could have done so without befriending him."

"Perhaps it would have been better for you that way!" Aragorn responded furiously, his fear for his friend outweighing all else. "You are immortal, Legolas. You do not have to die on this quest!"

"What makes you think that death is a certainty!" the elf shot back, his words coming faster and more furiously as he switched into the Grey Tongue. "I am well able to protect myself, and you as well if I choose it!"

Hearing his words thrown back in his face, Aragorn paused for an instant, staring at the familiar face before him that was tight in anger. The elf's voice dropped to little more than a whisper which mingled with the falling rain, yet he held the man's gaze fiercely as he spoke his next words. "If you think that I follow _Aragorn _into Mordor then you are mistaken. I follow you."

Aragorn stared at his friend, whom he had known since before he could remember, who had been a constant presence in his life. Even when they had not seen each other for years at a time due to the increasing pull of their duties as prince and ranger as Sauron's hold encroached over Middle Earth, still they had exchanged the occasional missive or had at least kept track of one another, through rumours if nothing else. Glimpses flashed through his head, memories of cursing an arrogant elven prince who refused to admit to a defeat, of fighting side by side with a fierce blonde-haired warrior, of sitting by a flickering campfire as a melodious voice sang to the stars, of anger, grief, noise, peace, trust and laughter.

"Legolas-" he began, yet his voice died away as the elf took a deep breath then reached up to place a hand on the man's shoulder, forcing him to look into his eyes. "I have been your friend for many a year, Estel. I will not leave you now."

Fighting down the strange tightness which had formed in his throat, Aragorn reached up to return the gesture, yet found himself being drawn into a tight embrace which he readily returned. It was some seconds later, after they had both composed themselves, that they drew back from each other and, with a slight grin passing between them, turned and began to walk towards the dark shape of the Last Homely House.

A wry smile formed on the ranger's face as they entered the main courtyard. "I hope that the rest of the fellowship are less prone to disagreement than we are, or else it shall not be a peaceful journey to Mordor."

"From what I have seen of the hobbits thus far, I think that your hopes are in vain, at least in this matter," replied the elf. "Merry and Pippin could rival your brothers, let alone you and I. And I have heard that dwarves are not the easiest of companions."

"You are not intending to continue your feud with Master Gimli on the quest, are you?" questioned Aragorn disbelievingly.

Legolas fixed innocent blue eyes on the suspicious ranger who shook his head, resigning himself to the likelihood of spending many days acting as peacemaker between a stubborn, arrogant elven prince and a dwarf who so far seemed little better. As the two of them turned into the main house, Aragorn threw once last glance at his friend. "Then you are determined to be part of the fellowship?"

"I am."

"And you refuse to remain behind?"

"I do."

"What if I command you as the king of Gondor?"

"As you said yourself, you are not king yet."

"Future king?"

Legolas shook his head. "I am coming, _mellon nin_," he replied. "And anyway," he added, fixing a firm gaze on the ranger beside him. "You need people of intelligence on this type of mission, quest…thing."

As night shrouded the valley completely, the shared laughter of two friends echoed dimly throughout the dusky mists which enveloped one of the few remaining sanctuaries in Middle-Earth.

TBC

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**_adar-_ father**

**_mellon nin-_ my friend**

**As always, thank you for reading and I would love it if you could review! Til next time! **


	8. A Brandybuck and a Took

**Disclaimer: I own them, I own them all! Mwahahaha! Or not, either way.**

**A/N: A huge apology for the lateness of this chapter. I had huge writer's block for ages and ages and then, when I finally figured out what I _wanted_ to write, university decided to rear its ever so ugly head. Review responses should be up either later today or tomorrow, as soon as I've finished editing the essay which I've been squeezing round writing this chapter. Hope you all enjoy the new (though decidedly late) chapter!**

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Chapter 8: A Brandybuck and a Took

Meriadoc Brandybuck shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets and ducked his head further into his collar in a vain attempt to ward off the cool chill which was sweeping down off the mountains which surrounded the Last Homely House. Stonily, he studied the ground beneath him, watching as his feet sullenly scuffed the damp earth draped over with leaves. A sharp nudge however, made him glance up and glare at his cousin, who was walking beside him. "What was that for?" he demanded angrily, scowling at the other hobbit.

Pippin stared at him curiously, his curly hair shifting in the soft wind. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong," Merry retorted grumpily.

"Yes, there is."

"No, there's not."

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Is."

"Isn't."

"Is!"

The two hobbits glared at each other, until finally, Merry shrugged, and nodded his head towards the various tall figures around them. "I just don't see why Strider had to bring all them along," he muttered.

"The elves?" Pippin questioned, glancing at the half-dozen elven warriors who walked on either side of the hobbits, making not a sound between them as they scoured the surrounding woods for any sign of trouble.

Merry nodded silently, his scowl darkening as Pippin cocked his head in thought.

"Well, they're here to protect us, aren't they?" the young Took reasoned. "In case of trouble and all that."

Merry snorted. "We're not children, Pippin!" he retorted angrily. "I don't see why they seem to think that we need to be watched every minute of every day!"

"Whose they?"

"_Them_! Strider and Legolas. Even Boromir does it," hissed Merry, ducking his head towards the broad-shouldered man who strode along on the trail just behind them, right hand resting on the hilt of his sword. When Pippin just looked at him as though he were crazy, Merry shook his head and tugged his coat further around him. "You just don't get it, Pippin, do you?" he grumbled.

Clearly realising that his cousin was not in the best of moods, Pippin shrugged and dropped back until he fell into line alongside Boromir, apparently having decided to seek better company. Merry scowled to himself as the sound of the Man's deep baritone intermingled with his cousin's inquisitive questions. Sullenly, he returned his gaze to the damp ground and continued his staring competition with the multitude of scattered leaves.

After many a day of the cousins' pleading, Strider had finally relented and agreed to take the hobbits out to explore the forests surrounding Rivendell. He had insisted however, that Legolas and the twins accompany them, a condition to which Merry and Pippin had happily agreed, having quickly come to enjoy the company of the three graceful elves. However, when the two hobbits had arrived in the main courtyard of the Last Homely House where it had been arranged that they would meet, a company of six elven warriors had been waiting for them, checking their light armour as they murmured quietly amongst themselves. The Man, Boromir, had also been there, sword in hand and round shield slung over his back as he waited a little apart from the elves, watching all that was going on around him with grim, serious eyes.

Merry had glowered at Aragorn as he and Legolas had arrived, followed minutes later by the twin sons of the Lord Elrond Halfelven. Catching the hobbit's glare out of the corner of his eye, and fully aware of the reasoning behind it, Aragorn had returned the gaze innocently as he tugged at the straps which bound his sword sheath around his waist and slid a narrow dagger into his left boot. "_They_ _were_ _bored_," he had said with a shrug, gesturing to the small army gathered in the courtyard. Needless to say, Merry had been less than impressed at this 'coddling,' as he termed it, yet had found himself unable to protest, reluctant to make a fuss in the company of the lordly elves before him.

As he walked along the rough trail which brushed through the woods which surrounded the Last Homely House, Merry's sharp eyes picked up the undertone of low voices in front of him at the head of the party, where Aragorn son of Arathorn and Legolas Thranduillion strode side by side, keeping an even pace with one another. Every now and again, one would murmur something to the other in a barely distinguishable whisper. Surreptitiously, Merry quickened his step until he was as close as he could be to the two friends without stepping on their heels, and listened carefully, hoping to pick some new information about the fast-approaching quest, to add to the bits and pieces which he and Pippin had managed to scavenge from several conversations which, he reckoned, were probably not meant for their ears. His efforts were in vain however, for the two friends spoke in a language which Merry did not know; a melodious, lilting, tongue which seemed to blend with the rustling of the woods around them. Disgruntled, the hobbit dropped back until he was alongside Pippin once again, and continued his staring competition with the earth beneath him.

-----------------

A few feet ahead of the brooding hobbit, the prince of Mirkwood turned to the man who strode by his side. "When do you think that the _periannath _will realise that you have been leading us around in circles for the past hour?" Legolas asked the ranger, blue eyes gleaming softly in amusement, yet always maintaining their sweeping journey over the tall trees which surrounded the small party, mindful of any potential dangers even within the sanctuary of Imladris.

Sharp grey orbs gazed back at him, protesting the ranger's innocence without a word having to be uttered.

"I may not be quite as skilled a tracker as you are," continued Legolas, when the man did not answer. "Yet there are limits. We have passed that tree three times now."

"Yet always from a different direction," was the smooth reply.

Legolas raised a dark eyebrow ever so slowly until, finally, Aragorn shrugged.

"The hobbits remain unaware," he replied simply. "And that it what matters, is it not?"

Legolas did not answer, but instead darted a quick look behind him where the hobbits walked with Boromir, before glancing back to the ranger. "Aragorn, we have walked several miles so far, yet we are no further from the House than when we started. Precisely what is the point of this little excursion?"

"The hobbits wished to see Imladris, Legolas, so that is what I am showing them." The barest hint of a smile appeared on the ranger's grim face. "Of course, if they do not realise that they are seeing the same part of Imladris from several different perspectives whilst not having strayed more than a mile from the house, well, that is all the better for us, is it not?"

"All the better for you, perhaps," was the elf's mild answer. "For I will have no part in this deception."

Ignoring his friend's words, Aragorn leaned in close to the elf, keeping one hand on his sword to prevent it from catching on his legs as he walked. "Am I mistaken, or did I just hear you admit that I am the better tracker of the two of us?"

"It is of no use trying to change the subject," Legolas retorted, refusing to be swayed from his intent. "I pity you if the hobbits realise that you have been deceiving them all this while."

Aragorn shrugged. "They will not find out," he stated. However, as a calm smile appeared on Legolas' smooth features, a suspicious thought rose to the surface of the ranger's mind, and he directed a sharp glance at the elven prince, who cleared his throat before falling back to walk with the hobbits and Boromir. Aragorn frowned. Unless it had been his imagination, the cough had sounded disturbingly similar to the word 'lake.' A deep crease appeared on his forehead. Surely his friend of many years would not betray him. Yet the ranger could not stop the slash of nervousness which went through his body as he looked back, eyes narrowed, only to see Legolas with his head lowered, speaking quietly to the two hobbits. Needless to say, Aragorn was hardly surprised when, seconds later, scurrying footsteps sounded behind him and two curly heads appeared on either side, just below chest-height.

The elder of the two hobbits glared at him accusingly. "What's all this about you not liking mushrooms?" Merry demanded.

Aragorn balked slightly, then steadied as the thought of throwing a certain elf prince into a lake for a second time comforted him. "I am not sure what you mean," he began, yet Pippin cut him off swiftly.

"Is this true?" he asked, shocked and disappointed that Strider, who he had begun to think of as somewhat of a hero, like the ones from Bilbo's tales, had failed such an important test.

"Well-"

"It is!" Merry exclaimed. "Remember Pip? He did not touch those mushrooms we offered him the first night we arrived here. He _said_ that he was too full!"

"I was-" Aragorn began to protest, yet found himself interrupted once more as Pippin leaned around him to converse with his cousin.

"Merry, he liedto us!" the young hobbit exclaimed, not bothering to dull the volume of his voice in the slightest.

"Rangers are known for their deceitful nature." The melodious tones of the prince of Mirkwood entered smoothly into the conversation. "In many a village people are wary of them to this very day."

"Those rumours are completely unfounded," growled Aragorn, a muscle in his cheek tightening. "It is through no fault of ours that the name _Dunedan _is tainted."

"Then you have never slept a night in a farmer's barn without his knowledge? Or been detained for 'disturbing the peace'?"

"I think that you are confusing me with Gandalf," Aragorn replied stonily, eyes remaining fixed stoutly on the path ahead.

Legolas shook his head merrily. "Nay, I am quite certain that it was you who dealt the first blow in that tavern near Laketown."

"That was a misunderstanding, as you well know."

"Need I remind you that you stole that man's horse?"

"Firstly, that man did not deserve such an animal, not the way that he treated it, and secondly, it was you who dared me to take it from him! If anyone should be blamed for the bad name of the rangers it is the last prince of Mirkwood!"

Legolas shrugged. "I hardly expected that you would accept the challenge."

Merry glanced at Pippin, a grin developing on his face as he watched the elf and ranger descend into one of their frequent disputes, many of which had occurred since the hobbits had first met the prince in the gardens of Rivendell. Pippin grinned back and the two perked their ears, eager to listen to the rest of the debate.

Aragorn was scowling darkly at his friend. "If my memory is correct, I believe that you remarked that only a coward would refuse such an easy task. What choice did I have?"

"If that is that so you should thus be thanking me for providing you with such an opportunity to prove that you are not a coward, but merely a fool. Yet in any case, I hardly think it fair to place the blame for decades of a poor reputation on a single elf."

"Out of the two of us, _you_ are the only one who has been alive long enough to be involved in most of these misunderstandings, so you must therefore be the one to blame!" Aragorn shot back.

Legolas shook his head, a merry glint in his eyes. "Ah, but what of your noble brothers? They have spent many more years in Middle-earth then I and have also had far more contact with the _dunedain_."

"Nay, we want no part of this argument." The smooth voice of Elladan sounded from behind the small group, and the hobbits' heads swivelled to face the slender elf where he strode next to his dark-haired twin. "It will only lead to trouble."

"Trouble for which I am certain Legolas is responsible," observed Aragorn.

Legolas began to protest, yet before he had said more than a couple of words, he halted, and appeared to be listening intently to the woods around him. Moving to the side of the path, the elf reached up and, without warning, swung himself into a tall tree, disappearing within seconds. Sharing a confused look with Pippin, who looked bewildered by the abrupt end to the conversation, Merry then glanced at the tall figures around them and noticed that they had closed in slightly. A rush of nervousness went through his stomach.

"Merry? What is it?" Pippin asked, unconsciously drawing closer to his cousin.

"I don't know, Pip," Merry replied apprehensively. "I think that there's something out there."

Little more than a minute had passed when Legolas returned, dropping silently out of the braches overhead and giving the two hobbits a nasty shock. The elf moved immediately over to Aragorn and the two began to converse, the former being never taking his eyes off of the surrounding woods. Merry moved forwards to listen.

"We should return to Imladris," Legolas was muttering to Aragorn softly, steel blue eyes darting in every direction as he kept watch for any threat which dared to present itself.

"We are not two miles from the main house," Aragorn replied stolidly. "No creature would dare approach so close to Imladris."

Even as he cast another sharp glance at the thickness of the surrounding bushes, Legolas was shaking his head. "Aragorn, this valley is no longer safe, however much you want to believe it so."

About to reply, Aragorn's gaze darted to the side as, without warning, three of the six elves who had accompanied them into the woods peeled off from the small party. In mere seconds they had vanished into the trees with not even the rustle of a leaf to indicate their passing. He turned back around to face the elf, his grey eyes seeming to have darkened slightly.

"I will not let you put others in danger because of a childish belief that your home is the only part of Middle Earth which has not felt the menace of Sauron," Legolas hissed. Noticing the Man, Boromir directing a sharp glance towards he and Aragorn, and well aware of the sharp eyes of the two hobbits, Legolas switched into elvish and softened his tone. "Imladris is no longer safe, my friend."

At that moment a birdcall sounded from the dark woods to the party's left. Merry watched as, exchanging a laden glance with Aragorn, Elladan disappeared into the trees with his twin immediately behind him, a mirror image of a deadly elven warrior. Boromir met the eyes of the heir to Gondor's throne for not even a second before he too followed, his heavy boots crushing the leaves beneath them as the man drew his sword from its sheath. The other elves drew tighter about the two hobbits, who crowded closer together as an unnerving ripple moved through the silent woods.

"What's wrong?" Merry asked, his voice hushed, barely louder than a whisper.

"Orcs," Aragorn replied roughly, without turning around. He drew his sword from its sheath before he continued. "A dozen of them perhaps."

"Aragorn." Catching the ranger's eye, Legolas glanced meaningfully towards the back of the party.

"Go," the ranger replied. Silently the elf prince dropped back until he was at the rear of the party. Drawing his bow and nocking an arrow to the string in one smooth movement, Legolas released an arrow, then a second, both of which hissed into the shadows of the surrounding trees behind the small group. A sickeningly fleshy thud, followed by a guttural cry, cut through the still forest, and were echoed almost immediately. Quick strides brought Legolas to the front of the party once more, his footsteps making not a sound upon the dry leaves as he fell into stride with Aragorn.

"They are more of them behind us," he muttered.

The ranger nodded, a grim expression lining his face. Turning around, Aragorn beckoned the hobbits to approach him. "Draw your swords," he murmured. "But do not use them, not unless you have no other choice."

Swallowing nervously, the two hobbits obeyed, not looking at each other. The sharp blades which Aragorn had given to them that dark night on Weathertop scraped cruelly against their sheaths as they were drawn forth, the noise cutting into the deceptively still air.

A sudden grunt sounded from before them and a distorted shape burst out of the trees ahead of the small company, followed immediately by a second. Before Merry could even blink, Legolas had whirled around and released an arrow into the shadows before him without pausing. A bare second later Aragorn darted forward and his sword flashed in one swift movement. Two dull thumps hit the forest floor, one after the other. Without a word the elf and the ranger returned swiftly to the small group, apparently oblivious to the shaken hobbits' stunned stares.

"We must move quickly," the ranger stated, keeping his voice low. "Merry, Pippin, stay behind Legolas and I." Merry nodded silently, and with Pippin followed on the two warriors' heels as they moved swiftly down the path, the other three elves close behind. Within minutes, the main gate of Rivendell came into view and the hobbits breathed sighs of relief, which they were careful to keep hidden from the elf prince and ranger before them.

Seconds before they moved through the stone archway, a number of shapes appeared, barely visible through a group of bushes. The hobbits tensed, half-expecting more deformed creatures to come charging through the undergrowth. However, only the lithe forms of the twins appeared, followed by the broader figure of Boromir, with three more elves seconds behind him. A grim expression on his face, Elrohir drew close to Aragorn and the two of them conversed quietly, speaking in the musical language which Aragorn and Legolas had been using less than an hour previous. This time however, there was a strangely harsh cast to their voices as they spoke, presumably about the orcs in the forest.

Merry glanced at the other returning warriors and noticed that one of the elves was favouring his left leg as a dark stain crept downwards towards his knee. The elf was being supported by another warrior who had a deep red scratch along one side of his face, marring the smooth paleness. As Elrohir finished his conference with Aragorn and moved over to his twin, Merry was unnerved to the two identical elves wiping their blades on their cloaks simultaneously, leaving the rich, flowing garments stained with a dark black substance. _Blood._ A strange sick feeling crept down towards his stomach as he eyed the twins a little uncertainly. Although he had heard that the sons of Elrond were warriors, and skilled ones at that, he had not actually realised that they were the same twins who had entertained he and his friends so merrily that first evening in Rivendell. However, his slightly disturbing thoughts were interrupted by the melodious voice of Elrohir, who had turned to the only other man in the party apart from Aragorn.

"You did well, Master Boromir," Elrohir commented, sheathing his sword by his side.

The Man shrugged, slinging his heavy shield over his back once again, yet keeping his sword drawn. "It has been many years since Gondor has seen peace," he answered. "I do my best to protect my people."

"Your people are fortunate to have a warrior as skilled as you," Elladan remarked. Boromir nodded almost imperceptibly, and his stern expression eased for a moment, yet he did not say anything more. Instead, the eldest of Elrond's sons turned to his brother.

"How many?" he asked bluntly, without further embellishment. Merry furrowed his brow in confusion, yet Elrohir apparently knew of what his twin was speaking, because a triumphant gleam lit his eyes.

"Four," he replied and his twin nodded in acknowledgement.

"Well done, brother. Victory is yours, this time at least."

Exchanging a puzzled glance with Pippin, Merry frowned as he wondered what in Middle-earth the two elves were speaking of. However, he was saved from having to ask as Legolas joined the conversation with a small smile upon his face, leaving Aragorn to lead the way back to the main house as the small company passed under the main gates of Imladris.

"I still cannot believe that the two of you actually compete on how many orcs you defeat," the elf prince commented, nimble fingers playing over the elegant shape of his bow.

"Why is that?" questioned Elrohir, his head cocked slightly to one side.

"It is childish."

"Aye, perhaps, but it is also extremely entertaining, _tithen las_," replied the twin smoothly.

"I am afraid that I must agree with Lord Elladan." The deep voice of the Man, Boromir, sounded, and Merry turned to look at him in surprise, for the Man most often kept his silence unless called upon to speak, at least in the company of the elves. "When we were children," the Gondorian continued, a fond smile coming to his face, "training with the sword, my little brother and I competed many a time regarding how many others we managed to defeat, in spite of the fact that they were most often members of my father's guard."

A wicked gleam caught in Elladan's eyes and he turned to Elrohir, his lips quirking in a smile. " I believe that we know of another who used to challenge members of his father's guard," he commented idly.

An identical smile formed on his twin's face. "And members of the royal court also."

"And each of us, frequently."

"He challenged Glorfindel once too, I seem to remember."

Legolas directed a sharp glance at the two elves and raised his eyebrows. "How else was I to gain sufficient skills to be able to best you, Elladan, only several days ago, with so little difficulty?" he enquired.

With a start, Merry realised that the twins had been speaking of about a young Legolas. He tried to imagine the elven prince as a child, yet his imagination failed him, not being able to overcome the image of the swift, lithe and deadly warrior whom he had just minutes ago witnessed killing three of Sauron's creatures.

Merry's attention was drawn back to the conversation as Aragorn turned round to smirk at the elf prince. "Yet I was able to best you, Legolas," the ranger commented, "three days ago, with even less difficulty. Perhaps you should seek out some of your father's councillors and try to improve your battle skills."

Legolas merely aimed a blow at the back of the ranger's head, which the man easily avoided. The prince turned to look at the hobbits apologetically. "You must excuse these three for their childish behaviour, master _periannath_," he said sorrowfully. "The sons of Elrond are not known for their manners, or their wits for that matter." He directed a sidelong glance at the ranger. "Even those of them who are adopted."

Aragorn snorted derisively. "At least I didn't get thrown into the lake," he muttered under his breath, before striding ahead to the head of the party once more as they entered the main courtyard of the Last Homely House.

Merry could not help the grin which came to his face at the behaviour of the three elves and the ranger, though he highly suspected that said behaviour was intended to draw the hobbits' attention away from what had just happened in the forest. The small company milled around for some minutes before the courtyard started to empty. Legolas stopped by where the two hobbits were standing to the side and looked down at them.

"I am sorry that we were force to return to Imladris so abruptly," the elf said softly. "I do not think that any of us expected such trouble."

Pippin nodded. "Especially as we were still so close to the House," he remarked.

The elf's eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, we had just been going round in circles for an hour. We hadn't really travelled any distance at all."

Legolas blinked. "You knew?"

Pippin shrugged. "We're hobbits," he replied, as if it explained everything, which perhaps, it did.

Legolas nodded. "You are indeed," he replied slowly. He looked at the two hobbits shrewdly, before finally turning to fall in step with the two twins as they moved down a long hallway which led towards the dining rooms. "Til supper!" the prince called back over his shoulder, and the hobbits waved in response.

Merry watched as Boromir nodded to the two hobbits as he passed, with a brief smile for them, before starting up the stairs which led eventually to his room. He then looked for Aragorn, yet the ranger seemed to have disappeared in the past minute, leaving not a sigh that he was ever there. A frown began to form on Merry's face once more, yet a sharp nudge to his ribs made the hobbit glance up and glare at his cousin, who stood beside him. "What was that for?" he demanded with a scowl.

Pippin stared at him curiously. "What's wrong with you?"

Merry nodded after the departing figures. "They still think that we need looking after. You heard what Legolas said. They didn't think we knew that we were being led around in circles, to keep us safe."

Pippin shrugged. "I know that we don't need looking after," he replied, and the hint of a gleam lit his eyes. "And _you _know that we don't need looking after. But _they _don't know that, and that's what's important, isn't it." He grinned. "You never know, Merry. It may work to our advantage someday."

Merry snorted. "And how's that, Pippin?"

"The way that I see it," the sandy-headed hobbit replied, lowering his voice. "Is that they'll all be so busy protecting us, that they won't even notice when _we _start protecting _them_!"

Merry shook his head. "You're daft."

Pippin raised his left eyebrow. "Am I?" he asked. "Or am I just so clever that I _seem _daft?"

Merry rolled his eyes, yet his could not help the smile that tugged at his cheeks. He was suddenly glad that his cousin was there in Rivendell with him. "Sometimes I don't know what to do with you, Pippin," he grumbled half-heartedly.

The other hobbit merely grinned.

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**Hope it was worth the wait! Please review, I'd love to know whether this chapter worked itself out because I'm still not entirely sure about it. Until next time which will sadly be the final chapter of In Imladris! (sob)**


	9. A Wizard Is Never Late

**Disclaimer: sighs deeply No, I do not own Lord of the Rings.**

**A/N: So, here we are at the last chapter of "In Imladris" (sob). I have been completely and utterly overwhelmed by the response to this story, never once thinking that it would be even half as well received as it has been. Thank you so very, very much to each and every one of you for your reviews, words of advice, threats to make me update faster, and for just simply reading (huggles readers). For the last time, (for this story at least) enjoy!**

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**Chapter 9: A Wizard Is Never Late**

As the morning sun crept slowly into the motionless cerulean sky which hung over the valley of Imladris, a pair of cobalt-blue eyes, framed by narrow brows and lined with the knowledge of all the ages of Middle-earth, gazed out from the main library of the Last Homely House. They travelled over the moss-draped rocks edging a narrow path which wound its way down from high cliffs, and roamed over the tops of tall trees and low dells until finally settling on three figures who sat in the midst of a verdant garden, their bodies shadowy outlines against the sharp light of the rising sun. A pencil-thin eyebrow rose ever so slightly and a small smile quirked the corners of a stern mouth as one of the figures, a man with dark hair which reached almost to his shoulders, leant over to trail his right hand through a singing stream which ran parallel to the lone trio, before flicking a few drops of water at his companions. The liquid crystals shone clear for the briefest of moments as they hung in the air, caught in the sunlight, before falling, grounding themselves on skin either pale and unblemished, or else weathered by long days in the blistering heat of battles fought underneath the clouding sky of Gondor. Yet even as rolling mists danced over the rivers which traversed the valley floor, and waterfalls rumbled as they dove from the stone cliffs which encircled the elven sancturary, the calmness which enveloped the dew-dropped scene was broken by the sudden sound of an ancient voice.

"Elrond, my old friend."

Despite the interruption, Lord Elrond Peredhil, master of Imladris and keeper of the elven ring, Vilya, did not stir from his place by the high windows of the vast library of Rivendell. Towering piles of parchments and scrolls were scattered liberally throughout the room, layered thickly over endless rows of wooden shelves which housed hundreds of age-old tomes, with more books covering the mosaic of stone slabs and warm, woven rugs which made up the solid floor. Despite the faint feeling of moisture which lingered everywhere throughout the valley, clinging even to the air itself as a reminder of the tumbling waterfalls which had made Imladris their home, each piece of parchment was surprisingly well-preserved, imbued perhaps with a trace of the elven magic, if so it could be called, which surrounded both Vilya and the lord of the valley himself.

The old, gruff voice spoke again into the smooth silence, louder this time. "Tell me, Elrond. What is it that occupies your attention this particular day and age to such an extent that you ignore an old man?"

Long seconds passed, yet the quiet only seemed to deepen until, finally, the wizard Gandalf snorted to himself and drew his long, rough robes closer about him to ward off a non-existent chill. When the millennia-old elf at the window before him made no move to acknowledge his presence, much less his words, the ancient Maiar let out a short huff and moved forwards, coming to a halt only when he was level with the dark-haired elf and could follow the other's gaze deep into the lush valley, coloured with the fresh greens of Spring as well as the dying hues of Autumn. Eyes which were ancient yet surprisingly sharp swiftly noted the three figures in the garden, and the wizard did not have to look at his companion to discern which of the beings in particular held the elven lord's gaze.

Time trickled slowly by as the two friends watched, listened and learned. Finally, when the sun had crept that little bit higher in the sky, Elrond spoke for the first time since the wizard had entered the library, his voice tinted with a blend of calm, sorrow and a frustration which was many seasons old.

"He must accept that he is more than a ranger."

As though the grave, unyielding words had broken the stillness which enveloped the room, the wizard turned and moved to stand before a large fireplace which flickered and burned opposite a pair of carved double doors which led into the library from the eastern wing of the main house. Reaching his lined hands out to the warming flames, Gandalf muttered into his storm-coloured beard, speaking almost to himself as he stared into the glistening heat. "Perhaps it would be best if he believed it first," he grumbled.

Elrond turned to fix grave eyes on the grey figure whose worn frame belied the strength hidden behind bushy brows and long, weathered robes. "He has had many a year to accept his heritage, Gandalf, yet he still resists it, even though he knows that time runs short."

"Time is always short, there is nothing extraordinary in that." The wizard shifted until his back faced the fire and glanced at the elf lord. "We cannot force him to accept his fate, Elrond. Aragorn must come to it in his own way, and in his own time."

"Time is precisely what we do not have, we have spoken of this already. Sauron's power is increasing; his forces move towards Imladris and Lothlorien, they are already in Mirkwood! Even if he will not admit it, Thranduil is struggling to keep even a small portion of his forests untainted by the dark creatures who have crept once more beneath its boughs."

"And what would you have us do?" the wizard countered, his gaze hardening. "Force Aragorn to take up the throne of Gondor, unwilling though he is? Such a deed would scarcely help us in our plight."

"We must do something, Gandalf, and soon. There are no others to accomplish what must be done if we ourselves fail."

"Perhaps the quest will do what we ourselves cannot," Gandalf mused. When Elrond did not reply, the wizard sought the other's eyes and fastened on them. "I have known you for many years, old friend. Do not think to pretend you were not glad when Aragorn offered his assistance to Frodo."

Elrond inclined his head with a movement almost imperceptible. "The quest is our last hope," he asserted. "And not only in regards to the Ring."

"You are right. The quest _is_ our final chance," Gandalf agreed. All pretence of humour, slight as it was, dropped from his next words. "But it shall be hard on him."

"Aragorn will not be alone, you go with him yourself."

The wizard let out a long, weary, breath as he turned to face the elf lord. "I cannot promise to watch over him for the duration of the quest, Elrond, as much as I would wish it. I will face my own challenges, as will he. And the rest of the fellowship will have their own troubles, you cannot rely on them to see him through this."

"There is one who would place Aragorn before himself. He has done so for many years."

"You speak of the prince, I assume?" Hard lines creased the expanse of the wizard's forehead. "He is young, Elrond, perhaps too young for the burden of this journey."

"As is Peregrin Took, as are all of the _periannath_."

"Hobbits have a unexpected tendency to surprise all those around them, Elrond, including myself."

"Yet it is the most innocent of hearts which are most easily corrupted, you know this."

When the wizard remained silent, Elrond took a step forwards, long robes sweeping over the stone floor as he moved. "What of the ring-bearer, Gandalf, what of Frodo? The quest will destroy him, even if he survives the journey itself."

For long moments the wizard did not reply. Then, from nowhere, a small smile touched the weathered creases of the old man's face as he lifted his head to meet the elf lord's stern gaze. "But he has Sam, and that is something which I think will help him on this journey."

Elrond shook his head. "It will not be enough. You are well aware of the strength of the ring, the strength of Sauron, whose power is growing even as we speak. I know of your trust in Frodo, but simple hobbits cannot hope to prevail in a shadow of such darkness."

Gandalf turned slowly. "You underestimate the power of friendship, Elrond."

"Friendship is not enough! Yes, it may hinder the spread of darkness, may quench the lure of the ring for a time, but Sauron will not cease in his attempts to draw Frodo to him!"

"You show such concern for Frodo and Sam, yet you are willing to send Legolas to aid your son?"

The elf lord stiffened at the wizard's words, his eyes darkening at the unspoken implication. He drew himself up before the ancient Maiar, his voice hard. "Neither Legolas nor Aragorn will be carrying the One Ring, Gandalf, and that is something which shall make all the difference." He looked to the window once again, his eyes falling upon the lithe, blonde-haired figure who rested on the grass between the two men, longs limbs outstretched as he spoke to his companions. "The fellowship will need warriors and he is one of Mirkwood's best. And it is possible that his youth may work to our advantage, besides. There is a lightness to his heart which will serve the company well as they approach Mordor."

"A lightness which may help even Frodo," finished the wizard, his gaze sombre as he joined the elf lord at the window, leaving the warm fire to flicker and flutter by itself. "Perhaps you are right, in this matter at least." He sent Elrond a long, narrowed look out of the corner of his eyes. "Yet there is no escaping the fact that Thranduil will not be pleased with you for sending his son to Mordor." A spark of long-absent amusement danced in the ancient blue orbs as the wizard faced the lord of Imladris in full. "And in the company of a son of Gloin, no less."

A gleam of something close to humour appeared in Elrond's eyes, eyes that had watched the goings-on of Middle-earth for more millennia than most would ever see. "Then it is fortunate that I shall not be the one to tell him of his son's decision," he replied levelly.

The corners of Gandalf's mouth twitched. "And who has been unfortunate enough to receive this duty?"

"My sons. They left early this very morning, after they had bid farewell to the fellowship."

Gandalf snorted, the sound laced with laughter. "That was a cruel move, my friend, to send your own kin to face the wrath of a king and father."

"It was nothing that they did not deserve. I assume that you heard of the wager they made with Estel?"

Though he noted that Elrond had referred to the ranger by the name he had given the son of Arathorn as a child growing up in Imladris, Gandalf kept his thoughts to himself as he shook his head, acknowledging his own ignorance. "Perhaps you would care to enlighten an old man?"

"It is suffice to say that it was not my human son who came up with the idea to push Thranduilion into the largest lake in Imladris before the fellowship's time in this valley came to an end."

A smile tugged at the corners of the wizard's mouth. "I assume that Estel won."

"He did. Yet I suspect that the twins intended him to be the victor the entire time."

"Then it is fit punishment indeed to send them to tell Thranduil of his son's decision." Gandalf paused, the spark of humour in his eyes burning bright. "Though I think that it may perhaps have been kinder to send them on the quest."

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Below the library of the Last Homely House, deep in the gardens of Rivendell, Boromir, son of Denethor, scrubbed a hand over his face; his noble, yet prominent, features lined with frustration and no small amount of disbelief at the scene before him in which the heir to Isildur's throne and the millennia-old prince of Mirkwood were sitting cross-legged and mere inches apart, each staring with iron-hard anger at the other.

The ranger's words came fast and furious. "You cannot expect me to believe that a short length of rope tied to a bent stick is in any way superior to the understated elegance of a blade that-"

"A stick?" the elf interrupted, a look of disbelief etched in his features. "_Mellon nin_, that 'stick' shall be the cause of your demise should you not retract your words."

Stifling a groan, Boromir closed his eyes and tried to think of happy things, things which had nothing to do with the elf and ranger before him. Things like banners, and white towers which gleamed in the morning sun, and a certain little brother whom, whilst certainly annoying in his own right, had never come close to producing the sort of exasperation within Boromir which he was feeling having spent the last hour in the company of an exceptionally perplexing elf and a ranger who was far too mysterious for his own good.

He had come upon the two resting on their backs by a swiftly flowing stream buried in the swaying grass which graced much of the elven valley. To his surprise, they had immediately invited him to join them and he had accepted with little ado. Content to insert only the occasional comment as he enjoyed the beauty of the surrounding gardens, he had found himself surprised at the lack of formality displayed between the elf and ranger as they had conversed, for, whilst he had surmised from the events of the Council that the two were previously acquainted, he had not thought to consider the depth to which their friendship stretched.

Within minutes of his joining them, a discussion had arisen concerning their preferred weapons. At first, he had been amused by the increasingly heated debate, even going so far as to inject his own thoughts in the hope of spurring the dispute further. Yet as the discussion had continued, with the arguments of both man and elf becoming increasingly more derogatory, not to mention laced with threats of bodily harm, he had withdrawn from the dispute, thinking it best not to jeopardize his developing sense of companionship with each of them because of a simple, and somewhat superfluous, debate. Aragorn and Legolas however, seemed to harbour no such qualms, something which had led to his current predicament.

Boromir heaved a heavy, yet carefully constrained, sigh as the elf and ranger continued to argue like siblings.

"This is the last time that I will utter these words, Legolas-"

"And that is only because I will take your life with my clearly superior weapon before you have the chance to utter another falsehood!"

The thought strode across Boromir's mind that perhaps, with the heir of Isildur and the prince of Mirkwood together in the company, the fellowship would not even have the slim chance of success in which he was forcing himself to believe. Most likely, he contemplated dispiritedly, they would all be slain by a mob of oncoming orcs whilst the two bickered over whose weapon was the most appropriate with which to kill said orcs. Swiftly however, he dismissed the notion from his mind as ridiculous and forced himself to focus once more on the rapid argument around him, which by this time seemed to have sunk to the basest level of human, and apparently elven, debate.

"Bow."

"Sword."

"Bow."

"Sword."

"Bow!"

The dispute began to fade once more into the background noise of Rivendell as Boromir's mind wandered towards the rest of the fellowship. The more time he spent with any member of the company, whether it was man, halfling, elf, dwarf or wizard, the more confused he was becoming.

The hobbits, whom at first had seemed to be merry, yet otherwise rather simple, creatures, had proved to have an unwavering sense of loyalty and friendship, not to mention a surprising stubbornness about them, and not only in matters relating to the proper times of meals. Frodo, in particular, intrigued him, for he sensed a sharp mind hidden behind those morning-blue eyes. With each day that passed in the elven valley, Boromir had found his respect growing in leaps and bounds for the hobbit, and for his gardener, who followed Frodo much as a well-loved and faithful dog followed his master. Yet at times, Boromir had seen a carefully concealed worry in the eyes of Samwise Gamgee which belied the otherwise straightforward nature of the quiet halfling. Merry and Pippin on the other hand, had brought light and laughter to his stay in Rivendell, something which he had never thought to expect after leaving his little brother at the gates of Osgiliath.

The dwarf, Gimli, seemed to be the most uncomplicated member of the fellowship. Signs of a fierce loyalty and well-honed battle skills had become apparent within minutes of his meeting the warrior, who, much to Boromir's amusement, seemed completely unaware of his…diminutive stature. For some reason, there seemed to exist a great deal of animosity between the dwarf and the elf prince, Legolas, and he had puzzled over it for a great deal of time before a simple question to the hobbit cousins had revealed to him all that he wanted to know, and more besides.

Legolas Thranduilion perplexed him, as did all elves. Ever since their first meeting, Boromir had been fascinated by the way in which the elf seemed to merge into his very surrounds, blending with all things that grew and most that didn't. Surreptitiously casting an unobtrusive glance at the elf where he sat on the nearby ground, Boromir found himself met with a set of clear blue eyes even as the elf continued his argument with the ranger. Embarrassed to have been caught staring, Boromir shifted his gaze away, yet, when he glanced at the elf once more, it was not annoyance but a soft smile which answered him.

Whilst reluctant to admit it, he was often wary of approaching the son of Thranduil, never quite sure whether or not he would be welcomed. So far however, the prince had been courteous, gracious even, and Boromir had felt a definite spark of potential friendship forming between he and the elf prince. Yet despite their budding camaraderie, Boromir still puzzled over the lissom being as he struggled to understand the way in which the elf's quick mind seemed to work. At times the prince was as merry a being as one could hope to meet, yet in the next second he would be still, so still as to mirror the earth itself, and in his eyes Boromir would see a swirling pool of emotion too deep to comprehend. Sadness was often there, hope, anger mixed with a foreign rage, sometimes happiness, and many other emotions which Boromir could not put into words, however much he tried.

He had asked the ranger once, hesitatingly, about the youngest prince of Mirkwood, unsure of how the man would respond to such a question, and even less sure of whether he wanted to ask him something in the first place. Yet one night in the Hall of Fire, as the elf had sung to the stars before the many races gathered before the leaping furnace, his curiosity had grown too profound to ignore any longer. So he had voiced his question, steeling his pride, and his nerves. The ranger had looked at him silently, then replied that the son of Thranduil had seen far more years pass in Middle-earth than he would ever wish to.

Gandalf, again, was a puzzle, though in a different way to the elf prince. Boromir had known Mithrandir since he was just a youth, fighting for the first time in the colours of Gondor, and had heard stories told of the Grey Wizard for several years before that. It brought him no small amount of comfort to think that Gandalf would accompany the fellowship on the quest, solid in his belief that if there were anyone in Middle-earth who could accomplish such a hopeless task as to destroy the One Ring in the fires of Mount Doom itself, it would be him. Yet during the past weeks, when he had seen Gandalf in Rivendell, usually for no longer than a glance at a time, he could not help but think that the ancient Maiar was feeling the weight of the quest just as much as he, if not more.

Last of the company was the ranger. From that first day in the Chamber of Narsil, and then later in the field where he had watched the man celebrate the elf prince's victory over the Rivendell archers, Boromir's opinions and impressions of the man had changed time and time again, never settling for more than a few hours at once. He had come to realise, and was slowly starting to accept, that there was far more to the other man than reached the eye. Now, every so often when he looked at the heir to Gondor's throne, the words of Bilbo at the Elrond's council came back to him.

"_From the ashes a fire shall be woken,_

_A light from the shadows shall spring;_

_Renewed shall be the blade that was broken:_

_The crownless again shall be-"(1)_

"Master Boromir?"

Brought abruptly from his thoughts, Boromir stared blankly at the heir to the throne of Gondor, then at the prince of Mirkwood, both of whom were looking at him expectantly.

"Well? Which do you judge to be the better weapon? The sword, or, as this fool elf claims, the bow?" The man uttered the last word with no small amount of disdain, drawing an annoyed glare from said fool elf.

Forcing his mind back to the present, Boromir excused himself hurriedly, his thoughts still in disarray from his musings. "I do not believe that I am an able judge of this debate," he replied, cursing the slight hoarseness which flavoured his voice. Clearing his throat he continued. "I favour the sword myself and have been trained far more thoroughly in its use than in that of the bow, thus I do not think-"

"There!" The ranger's voice was victorious, so much so that Boromir began to think that this debate was not an infrequent event between the two friends.

"However," added hastened to add, seeing the elf's eyes harden, "I am certain that were my little brother here, he would be quick to defend the bow as his weapon of choice."

Elf and ranger looked at one another, then back to the son of Denethor, who shifted restlessly under each demanding gaze. Finally, Legolas' stare levelled, and he switched his gaze to Aragorn. "Then it is a draw," he announced.

The other man nodded slowly. "So it would seem. For the time being, at least."

"This is not over, Dunedan," Legolas agreed, his blue eyes gleaming.

Before another word could be uttered however, both man and the elf glanced simultaneously in the direction of the Last Homely House, leaving Boromir to stare at them in surprise. He could hear nothing. Yet as he watched, the ranger nodded towards the main building, a glimmer appearing in his silver-grey eyes. Legolas' expression, on the other hand, had darkened, turning almost sullen, his lips tightening into a thin line. "Do not," he growled at Aragorn, almost under his breath, yet the ranger merely bared his teeth in the imitation of a grin.

It was only then that Boromir saw the stout figure of a certain red-bearded dwarf round the corner of a thicket of dense bushes. Directing a quick, questioning glance at Aragorn, he puzzled over how the man had been able to hear the approaching dwarf when he himself had heard nothing. Once more his opinion of the ranger shifted.

Aragorn raised his voice to call to the dwarf. "Master Gimli!" he hailed. "Will you not join us?"

"I swear by Isildur that one day I will embed an arrow in your back," Boromir heard Legolas mutter, yet his attention was diverted as the son of Gloin stopped in his path, seeking the owner of the voice. Seeing the two men, the dwarf lifted a heavy hand in greeting.

"Aye, I'd be glad to, Master Aragorn!" he bellowed in return, the sheer volume of his voice causing Legolas to wince, and proceeded to make his way towards them, leaving dark footprints where the grass sunk into the dew-laden ground beneath his weight. It was only when he was within a few yards of the group that he appeared to notice Legolas, whom, as Boromir had previously noticed, seemed to have melded into the greenery around him. Yet, it being too late for the dwarf to retreat, he continued stoically onwards until he stood before three of them. Boromir watched him curiously, wondering how he would react to the elf after their last, somewhat violent, encounter in the Hall of Fire.

"Morning, lads," Gimli greeted the two men. "Master Elf," he added stonily, casting a dirty, dismissive glance at the prince, who returned the gaze in kind.

"Take a seat, Gimli," responded Aragorn, gesturing to the ground beside him. "If we are to travel together it is best that we get used to each other's company."

"As painful as that process may be," Legolas muttered under his breath.

Ignoring his friend's rather loud comment, Aragorn enquired into Gimli's morning, reaching into a concealed pocket of his light grey shirt as he did so. He withdrew a long wooden pipe and slowly packed it with a heavily scented mixture of herbs and such, before lighting it with a small flint. As Boromir watched the two of them, he saw a smirk creep onto Gimli's face which echoed that on the ranger's, and within seconds the dwarf had started to mirror the ranger's actions. Yet it was not until Boromir saw the thick trails of smoke which had begun to plume from the top of each pipe, causing Legolas to almost bristle in displeasure, that he realized Aragorn's intention to irritate the elf, whom, as Boromir knew, detested the heavy scent.

When the elf's top lip began to curl in disgust, still without him having said a word, Boromir realised there was much more to what was going on than he had first thought. It was a battle, not a physical one, but one of wills. Aragorn was baiting the elf prince, daring him to make some comment, or else demand that he and the dwarf stop smoking. Legolas however, was not about to give in before the son of Gloin, and Boromir was sure that Aragorn knew that.

For long minutes the game stretched on, with Boromir tensing every time a trail of smoke trickled the elf's way, every time the prince's shoulders tightened, every smirk dealt out by either man or dwarf. Then, seconds before he was sure the elf was about to let loose a cutting comment, if not more, he heard the chatter of high voices, and Sam, Merry, Pippin and Frodo appeared around the bend in the path which stretched from the Last Homely House. Hurriedly, Boromir gestured them over, hoping that the sense of urgency he was feeling did not reveal itself to anyone else.

Identical grins had formed on the cousins' faces at the sight of the other members of the fellowship, and beckoning to their fellow hobbits, they immediately started for where the group of men, elf and dwarf were gathered.

"Hello there!" Merry exclaimed, dropping down next to Aragorn. "Nice morning, isn't it?"

Boromir nodded along with the ranger, keeping a sharp eye on the elf who seemed to have restrained himself somewhat at seeing the hobbits.

Pippin joined his cousin without further ado before tugging Frodo and Sam down with him. He and Frodo directed smiles at each of the taller members of the fellowship, and Gimli as well, but Sam was watching the man and dwarf as they chewed on their pipes. Taking a small whiff of the smoke as it came his way, he eyed the pipes appreciatively before leaning over to Legolas.

"Excuse me, Mr-" He paused at the elf's raised eyebrow and began again. "I mean, excuse me, Legolas, but I thought that you didn't like it when Mr. Strider smoked his pipe."

"He doesn't," replied Aragorn, before the elf could respond, and, taking a deep breath of smoke, he pulled it back between his teeth before blowing it all over the elven prince. Legolas began to cough harshly as the smoke caught in his lungs.

Without warning, a sudden, grumbling voice interrupted the company. "In the many years I have wandered Middle-Earth, you two are the most foolish of all the beings I have ever met. And that includes our resident Took."

As one, the party turned to see the bent figure of Gandalf approaching the small company, unnoticed by all of them until that point. Pippin turned indignant eyes on the wizard who merely chuckled before lowering himself with a stifled groan onto the grass.

"If I see you doing that to Legolas again, Aragorn," Gandalf admonished the ranger as he removed his tall hat and placed it carefully onto the grass, "your kneecaps shall be reacquainted with my staff."

Legolas, whose throat seemed to have calmed somewhat, judging by his lessening coughs, managed a satisfied glare at the ranger, who frowned at Gandalf in irritation.

"You always side with him," the man complained, tapping his pipe out on a patch of damp earth bordering the stream.

"With good reason," the elf prince interjected hoarsely, yet the ranger did not have a chance to respond as the high, piping voice of Pippin cut into the conversation. The young hobbit had turned to the elf, who was still trying to clear his throat of smoke.

"Legolas?" the hobbit asked, his head tilting to one side. "How did you know about Strider?"

Legolas coughed once more before focusing all his attention on the waiting hobbit. "I beg your pardon, Pippin," he replied throatily, "but I fear that I am not entirely sure of what you speak."

Pippin frowned to himself as he contemplated his own question. "It's just that at the council you seemed to know an awful lot about him, more than anyone else, in fact."

Legolas nodded, considering the small hobbit's words. "Aye," he admitted. "I have known this ranger for many years, even before knew himself as Aragorn."

"I still think that you should have told me," the man muttered darkly as he sheathed his pipe into one of his many coat pockets. "But whilst we are on the topic of my past, Elf, there is something which has puzzled me since the council."

Legolas fixed the ranger with a challenging gaze. "And what is that?"

"Tell me, why is it that after all these years of managing to conceal my identity, you felt the need to pronounce me the heir of Gondor before the representatives of all the free peoples of Middle-Earth?"

Boromir glanced up to see the elf shrug briefly.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time?"

The Gondorian barely managed to stifle the laugh which bubbled up inside him at the elf's words, as the ranger, who did not seem quite as amused, glowered at his friend.

"That is far from a satisfactory answer, _mellon nin._"

The gruff voice of the son of Gloin suddenly entered the conversation, and all ears, both rounded, peaked and pointed, turned to him. "It will do you no good to blame the elf, Master Aragorn," he announced, a glint lingering in his dark eyes. "For it is no fault of his own that he cannot keep a secret. Why," he continued, "I myself have never met a pointy-ear who can keep his mouth shut for more than a few seconds at a time!"

Aragorn groaned and dropped his head into his hands at the dwarf's words, and Boromir had a strong inclination to join him as he watched Legolas jerk his own head up to stare at the shorter creature.

"Watch your words, Master _Dwarf_, " he spat, his tone darkly menacing. "For it would be unfortunate for the fellowship to lose one of its members before it had left this very valley."

Boromir found himself watching wide-eyed along with the hobbits as Gimli scoffed at the elf, his face darkening as he seemed to swell in size. "It will be a cheerless day that an elf can get the best of me!" he retorted, clambering to his feet.

Legolas laughed as he, too, stood up, yet for once the sound carried none of its usual merriment. "Do not tempt me, son of Gloin," he bit out. "I have seen more battles and faced more foes than you ever shall in the short years of your life, and-"

"And I have seen far more than you, Thranduilion!" interrupted Gandalf without warning, his voice deafening. The words cut instantly through the razor-sharp atmosphere which had come to envelope the small party, and immediately both the elf and the dwarf closed their mouths with a snap, looking somewhat surprised as they did so. The rest of the fellowship, apart from Aragorn who had begun kneading at his forehead with his knuckles, fell deadly silent, and seven pairs of eyes fixed on the ancient Maiar.

Boromir watched as Gandalf took a heavy breath before glancing round at the odd mixture of creatures which represented each of the four main races of Middle-earth. In turn, he fixed each hobbit, man, elf and dwarf with a heavy stare, his expression grave. His words however, when they came, were hardly what Boromir expected.

"I do not wish to spend all my time on this quest chasing about after foolish hobbits, stubborn dwarfs, mulish elves and reckless men," grumbled the wizard, "and as such I shall expect each of you-" here he glared at an abashed-looking prince of Mirkwood and the reddening son of Gloin, "-to befriend one another, no matter what has passed between you, or your fathers, in years gone by. This quest shall be wearisome enough without all your bickering, so you will all refrain fighting amongst yourselves. If such things do occur, despite this warning, I do not want to hear of them, and I shall expect each and every one of you to go to any lengths to prevent such an event from reaching my ears. Is that clear?"

The wizard waited until each member of the fellowship had nodded, before nodding himself and rising to his feet. Brushing off his hat, he settled it on his head, and looked once more around the motely group. "Now then. I am going to leave you all alone for a time, during which I shall expect each of you to consider my words most carefully, unless you have a particular desire to be turned into something-" he paused and glanced over at a pale Sam, "-unnatural like." With one final glare and a soft snort, the wizard swept round and strode away in the direction of the Last Homely House.

When the Maiar was gone from sight, Boromir glanced round his companions uneasily. The hobbits, three of them at least, were sitting open-mouthed and unblinking, staring in the direction that the wizard had disappeared. Frodo, on the other hand, had a tiny smile flickering around his lips which was echoed in his morning-glory eyes. Gimli had darkened to an even deeper red than he had been minutes earlier, and his expression kept switching between embarrassment and then fury as he glared at the son of Thranduil. Legolas, for his part, seemed more offended than anything else at being told off, and Aragorn had merely slouched even lower where he sat and seemed to be debating whether to break out into laughter or knock his head against a nearby tree.

Finally, as was probably to be expected, the silence was broken as Merry nudged Pippin, hard. "This is all your fault," he hissed at his cousin.

"Mine?" the young Took objected. "Why?"

"If you hadn't brought up all that about Legolas knowing about Strider, Legolas and Gimli never would have gotten into a fight in the first place!"

"Nay, gentlemen, I think that it is safe to say that it is their fault," interjected Aragorn, nodding towards Legolas and Gimli. "For if those two not been so determined to pick a fight about even the slightest offence then Gandalf would not have-"

"My fault?" interrupted both elf and dwarf simultaneously. Realising that they had spoken in unison, each of them turned to the other in fury.

"It is your own fault, Elf, and it would do you good to admit it for once!" blustered Gimli.

"Have you not heard that it is unseemly to blame those who are innocent," returned Legolas, his eyes hardening.

Gimli's head snapped up at once. "I am sure that _that_ is something which your father knows plenty about!" he bellowed at the elf prince.

Boromir glanced over at the ranger. Aragorn however, was simply shaking his head at the bickering pair as he levered himself to his feet amidst the sound of many arguing voices.

"It _is_ your fault!" Merry was still hissing at Pippin.

"But Strider said it was theirs!" Pippin protested.

"_Your _father imprisoned my father for no good reason!" bellowed Gimli, moving a step closer to the pale-skinned elf.

"Your father trespassed in my home, it is reason enough!" shot back Legolas, as he looked down at the dwarf before him.

When a rough hand fell upon his shoulder, Boromir glanced up, startled, to see Aragorn standing above him with a smile on his face and an arm outstretched. "Come, Master Boromir. Perhaps there is somewhere in this valley which more peaceful than our current location."

With only a brief hesitation, Boromir allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Once standing, he leant towards the ranger, a half-veiled smile forming on his own bearded face. "If it were my choice, I would say that this is the fault of a certain ranger for baiting a Prince Legolas."

"Aye, and I would have to agree with you," replied Aragorn. "Yet as long as the rest of them do not realise that, then I am safe, am I not?"

Boromir glanced at the other man. "As long as no one tells them of your role in this, you are indeed safe," he returned innocently. When Aragorn did not immediately reply, he glanced at the ranger as he waited for his reaction.

Slowly, the heir to the throne of Gondor nodded, a small smile creasing his own face as he glanced around him, taking in the high cliffs, lofty trees, lush gardens and the bickering fellowship in the middle of it all. "I think, Master Boromir, that it shall be a long walk to Mordor."

"Aye," Boromir agreed. "I think it shall."

----------------

From where they stood in the main courtyard of the Last Homely House, Gandalf the Grey and Lord Elrond Peredhil watched the Fellowship of the One Ring with some apprehension. The prince of Mirkwood had caught up to the heir of Gondor, demanding that the debate over the superiority of the bow as compared to the sword should be settled once and for all by using a certain dwarf for target practice. The son of Gloin was marching along furiously as he muttered to himself about the deceitfulness of elves. The four hobbits had begun an intense discussion about the best way to cook mushrooms, yet Frodo seemed slightly distracted as he reached up to feel something that was hidden from sight underneath his shirt. Boromir, the son of the Steward, was trailing behind the rest of the fellowship with a somewhat dubious expression on his face.

"It looks as though all of Middle-earth is doomed," Gandalf commented.

Elrond nodded, a small, pained, crease appearing between his dark brows. "So it would seem," he replied, and turned to make his way inside the Last Homely House where it rested buried deep within the sanctuary which was Imladris.

End

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**A/N: This author does not endorse smoking in any way, shape or form.**

**(1) Taken from Tolkein, J. R. R., _The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring_**.

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**I never really thought that I'd feel this sad coming to the end of a story, but I am definitely going to miss 'In Imladris'. I've been working on it for over a year now, and am so appreciative of all of you who have stuck with me through the long (though completely unintentional!) delays between updates. I truly hope that you've enjoyed this story, and would love to hear what you thought of the last chapter. Again, thank you all so, so, so much, and happy writing/reading! **

**Evergreene**


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